


Second Chances

by snarkymonkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: D/s, Dom!Cas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventually a great deal of sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Past Abuse (not entirely graphic), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective!Castiel, Scarred!Dean, Sub!Dean, Triggers, gentle!cas, slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymonkey/pseuds/snarkymonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What had started as a mission to buy a gag gift for his prim-and-proper brother turned into another chance for Dean to be a submissive.  And gave him the opportunity to see what he'd been denied in the past and what true pleasure and affection really meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After a week of trying – and failing – to find the perfect gift for his no-longer-a-bachelor brother, Dean gave up and decided to go his normal prankster route.  What better place to do so than a sex shop?  He hadn’t been inside one for a good long while.  He still had a few toys he’d use now and again but the racier stuff he’d left behind when he’d left Michael.  Still, didn’t mean he couldn’t annoy Sam with some tasteless, embarrassing gift tonight for his bachelor party. 

Dean's shoulder blades itched as he stepped inside the store.  It wasn’t skeevy like he’d expected.  Clean and quiet.  Everything set up in a pleasing manner, not dicks hanging everywhere like that one place Michael had sent him to in Las Vegas.  Toys were behind glass cases and there was a bookshelf of DVDs and books related to straight-up porn or just instructional videos.  He glanced over them for a minute, trying to decide if a porn video would be a good way to humiliate his little brother for a night.

He twitched when he heard someone clear their throat.  He turned, blinking at the man standing before him.  Tall, dark hair, blue eyes.  _Gorgeous._   Scruffy jaw but still somehow neat and tidy.  He wore tight jeans and a clean, black t-shirt, his forearms bare to show off a spiral of black and blue ink on his wrist.  He held his hands in front of him and smiled politely at Dean.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Dean swallowed and shrugged.  “Uh . . .” his mind blanked and he said the first thing that came to mind.  “Cuffs?”  Immediately, he wished he hadn’t said it.  But, it wasn’t like they would be for him.  Sam.  To embarrass the fuck out of Sam.

The man smiled, eyes sharpening.  “This way, sir.”

“Uh, Dean.”

“Hm?”  The man glanced at him over his shoulder as he led Dean toward the back of the store. 

“My name.  Dean?”

Tucked away behind a short wall, out of sight of the main counter, the man halted, hand out.  The display case was just as pleasantly arranged as the rest of the store, cuffs and collars settled among black velvet in soft drapes.  The man smiled again, eyes softly calculating.  “Dean.  Welcome to my store.  My name is Castiel.”  He opened the top of the case, pausing.  “Have you ever been in a store like this before?”

 _Long time ago._   He nodded.  “Oh, yeah.”  He eyed the cuffs nervously.  He had to keep reminding himself that it was a good way to annoy Sam.  Give him some cuffs or even a collar.  Hell, Dean was always teasing him about his damn puppy-dog face.  Jess would probably get a kick out of it; not that he wanted to think of his sister-in-law-to-be using the damn things.  Still, he couldn’t help staring at the coils of leather like a snake about to strike.

He’d worn them plenty with Michael.  Ankle cuffs even.  He was used the feel of tight leather, the unique scent.  Once, he’d _loved_ it.  That feeling of possession.  Of being bound.  Hadn’t felt it in a long time, though.  Not after it had become a punishment.  A way to remind him his place.  His gaze landed on a set of red-and-black cuffs and Castiel chuckled.

“Ah, one of our best sellers, I admit.”  He pulled a cuff out, dandling it from a finger.  “Would you like to try it on?”

Not thinking, Dean nodded, watching Castiel’s pale fingers slide the thick cuff onto his wrist.  At the quiet jingle of the buckle, Dean realized what a dumb mistake he’d made.  This was supposed to have been a gag to annoy his soon-to-be-married brother with.  Something to make him pout and mutter and swear fratricide.  What it  _wasn’t_ supposed to be, was something so goddamn erotic it was all he could do not to bust through his jeans.

The proprietor ran his slender fingers along the red-and-black leather that now nestled against Dean’s wrist.  ”See?” he murmured.  ”Very well crafted.  Cushioned.  Perfect for … whatever you intend.”  His blue eyes were dark and warm.  Sultry, if Dean had to put a name to it.  ”Are they a surprise for your girlfriend?  Boyfriend?”

Dean swallowed.  He tried not to meet the man’s eyes but it was difficult.  They were bright and narrow and entirely too focused on him.  ”A-actually,” he husked, “it … they’re supposed to be a … gag gift.  For my brother.  Bachelor party tonight,” he added, finally breaking the spell this man, Castiel, seemed to have on him.

"Oh."  Castiel turned Dean’s wrist, his fingers once more resting lightly on the metal and leather.  "I misread you then."  A wicked curl of the lips.  "With the faster heartbeat and the stuttered breathing, I thought for certain you were aroused by this."  He stepped closer to Dean, pushing him gently toward the wall, his ass hitting solid wood far too quickly.  Castiel dug his fingers into the leather, trim nails scraping the tender skin of Dean’s wrist, drawing out a broken moan he tried _desperately_ to contain.

"Such a pity," Castiel breathed in his ear, his tongue just grazing Dean’s lobe.  "They are quite …  _stunning_ on you.  I even have a matching collar.”  He sighed lightly, breath tickling Dean’s skin.  “Perhaps . . . if you were interested, I could give you a set?”

It had been  _so long_ since someone had wanted to take control of him.  Until Castiel’s voice, hushed and warm, crossed his skin, he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it.  Or wanted it.  The idea that a guy as good-looking as this Castiel could even be remotely interested in him?  He’d be a fool not to snatch that up.

His heart raced and he licked his lips.  “C-collar?” he managed.  He’d never gotten one before.  Always one step shy, it seemed.

Castiel chuckled warmly, his body hard and hot against Dean’s side.  “I see that you like the idea.”  He leaned back, brushing his knuckles against Dean’s jaw.  “It would be my _pleasure_ to grant you one.”  He sighed, his nose bumping against Dean’s temple.  ”I’d suggest red; bring out those lovely freckles of yours.”

And then it all went to fucking shit.  Dean flinched, swallowing frantically as Castiel’s voice brought up those old memories.  Hard hands.  Pain.  Laughter in his ears.  The pinching bite of leather bound too close to his skin.  He fumbled with the buckle on his wrist, desperate to yank it off.  Shaking, he only stopped when Castiel’s fingers trapped him.

He’d expected mockery.  Derision.  Amusement.  Not the worry.  The concern.  That almost seemed to hurt worse.

"Dean?"  He spoke softly, all tease gone from his voice.  He didn’t pinch Dean’s hand but held it gently, moving it away to undo the silver latch on his wrist.  "Dean.  You’ve been triggered.  Are you all right?"

He wanted to laugh it off.  Just shake it all off and walk out.  Walk away.  Instead, he slid down the wall, his legs suddenly giving up until he slumped on the floor.  

Castiel, strangely, followed, kneeling beside him, still holding his unbuckled wrist.  The concern hadn’t faded; if anything, it’d only increased.  ”Dean.  Please.  I hadn’t intended to harm you.”  He sighed, rubbing Dean’s wrist gently.  ”Forgive me.  I overstepped.  Please, wait here.”

Dean didn’t look up, just held his own wrist, staring at the open leather band on the floor near his knee.  He’d fucked up again.  He usually did around Doms.  This was just one fucking hell of a record at this point.  He let go of his wrist and rubbed his forehead with his other hand, fingers still trembling.  

Shit, it had been … seven months by his count since he’d been around Michael.  He’d dated since then.  No Doms though.  But the second that leather had slid against his skin; the moment Castiel had whispered in his ear, it’d all rushed back and he’d panicked.

Like an idiot.

He blinked at the glass of water in front of his face.  He took it, swallowing a mouthful as Castiel sat down beside him.

"I’ve closed the shop for the day," the other man said.  "Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Huh?"

Castiel frowned.  ”Dean, this is a trigger.  These … items are not good for you.  It’s clear you’ve been hurt in the past and I … I can’t apologize enough for putting you in that position.”  He looked away for a moment and sighed.  ”As I stated, I’d misread you.  I thought perhaps … you were a sub in need of a Dom.  So … forgive me.”

"I’m fine.  I swear," he mumbled.  Idiot.  That’s what Michael would have said, in that sneering voice of his.   _You’re overreacting again, Dean.  I gave you instruction.  I expect it followed._

"You aren’t fine," Castiel returned, staring at him pointedly.  "This brother of yours.  Let me call him.  You’re in no shape to drive."  

 _Fuck._  Yeah, let Sam see him freaking out over all this.  That’d be the literal icing on the cake.  Not like Sam didn't know he was bi but the guy didn’t have a _clue_ about Dean’s desire to sub.  And this sure as shit wasn’t the way his brother was going to find out.  Nope.  Dean would haul himself out of this fucked up mess like always.  Go home and drink.  Or something.

He set the water glass aside and rose unsteadily.  He smiled; or tried to.  ”No, seriously.  I’m good.  Just … low blood sugar.”

The other man rose.  ”This is not  _low blood sugar,_ " he began.

Dean waved a hand.  ”Naw, man.  I’m good.  Just … yeah.  Good.”  He stepped around Castiel, heading for the front of the store.  He didn’t make it far before Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder.

He turned, careful to keep his face blank, even while his heart continued its riotous pounding.

Castiel held out a small, white card.  ”My private number.  If you ever wish to talk.”  When Dean didn’t take it, he slipped it into Dean’s shirtfront pocket.  ”Whoever harmed you in the past was wrong.  He was a terrible Dom.”  He took his hands away, stepping back.  ”Please understand that.  You’ve done nothing wrong.”  

"Uh.  Th-thanks," Dean managed, not believing a word of it.  Of course he’d done something wrong.  He’d rejected a Dom; again.  He was nothing _but_ wrong at this point.

"Be safe, Dean," Castiel murmured.

Dean almost wanted to stay.  But he turned, heading out, the pleasant jingle of the store’s bell shrieking in his ears even after he slid behind the wheel of the Impala.  And he most certainly did  _not_ take comfort from the small wave Castiel gave him on the other side of the window.

He considered balling up the card and tossing it out the car window as he drove away.  It burned behind his pocket.  Such a tiny thing.  Probably better to be rid of it.  He’d forget anyway.  Dumb idea.  Like the guy meant it.

Well … maybe later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to make an excuse this time. I keep writing and not finishing because I'm bonkers. :p Basically, this came about because I had a major crash regarding my writing (in that I wanted to quit and it all sucked, etc) and it's become rather fun to write and explore so I'm keeping up with it. :3 I'm doing my research to make certain I'm presenting this relationship properly but by all means, if I mislabel something, feel free to call me out.
> 
> [My Tumblr](dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

     Dean avoided the shop and any idea of _Castiel_ for nearly a week.  Instead of the aborted gag gift for Sam, he’d opted for an expensive bottle of whiskey, all the while remembering the soft scrape of leather and the hushed words in his ears.  Even that brief moment had been enough to bring back the worst of what Michael had done to him.  He’d leave leather cuffs on him, too tight, for days at a time until his skin rubbed raw.  That night, at Sam’s party, he’d scratched at his wrists, remembering the ache.  Had to excuse himself to the restroom twice, his face pale and damp with sweat.

     And fuck everything; he’d almost had a chance of another Dom.  It wasn’t a lie to say he craved the subjugation.  He _enjoyed_ the control he gave over.  But instead of welcoming Castiel’s advances, he’d gone and panicked, likely making the man think him a freak.  A broken toy like Michael had referred to him when Dean had finally left.

     _“You think anyone wants you?  You’re useless, Dean.  You can’t even follow simple rules._ ”

     So, for a week, he ran through Michael’s words.  Remembered the truth of them, the hollow reality of how he’d barely ever managed to follow Michael’s instructions.  How terrible a sub he’d been.  Never giving enough over to him. 

     Even so, he found himself curious of Castiel.  He’d done research on the shop and found it was one of the highest rated sex shops in Kansas.  Clean, well-liked, respectful of queer relationships.  They even offered rope classes and Dom instruction.  He’d found a picture of Castiel, dressed in a neat, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  Blue eyes wide and bright.  Hair just as mussed as it’d been when Dean had been there.

     He still had Castiel’s card.  His supposed private number.  A charity case, maybe?  Or maybe he wanted to remind Dean of how a sub was supposed to act.  He fidgeted in front of his laptop, toying with the card, the numbers so stark against the clean white surface.  Maybe that’s why he was so uncomfortable.  Maybe he was just postponing the inevitable punishment.  The _correction_ he deserved.  If Castiel was willing to provide it, Dean should be thankful, right?

     Though his stomach had twisted itself into knots, Dean drove to the store the following Saturday, his palms wet and his heart racing.  He just needed to be put in his place.  He’d acted out against Michael and walked.  And then his reaction to Castiel had been just as poor and stupid.  If Castiel could correct him, make him a good sub again, maybe he’d find another Dom and fill that hole in his life.

     He pushed open the door to the store cautiously, holding his breath.  At the counter, instead of piercing blue eyes, he found lovely hazel and bright red hair.  He swallowed rapidly, confused.  Was Castiel not working?  Didn’t he own the store?

     The woman smiled warmly.  “Can I help you?” she asked.

     Dean shook his head frantically.  No, this was a mistake.  His sign to go.  He should have stayed away.  Not come back to this place and its tempting owner.  He began to turn, halting immediately when he heard a familiar voice call out, “Dean?”

     He turned back, finding Castiel coming out from the back room, a box in his hands.  He looked from Dean to the clerk and back.  He set the box down and wiped his hands.  “Anna.  I’ll be busy for the next hour or so.  Please, only interrupt if it’s an emergency.”

     She glanced at Dean quizzically but nodded, turning back to her task.

     Castiel frowned and gestured to Dean.  “Dean?” he prodded.  “Please, follow me.”  He was dressed similar to the week before; clean, tight jeans, this time, a light gray Henley given the turn to cooler weather.

     Stiff-legged, Dean did as he was bid, already tense and awaiting his correction.  Maybe Castiel had given him the number because he wasn’t _supposed_ to drop by unannounced.  He’d done that once with Michael.  And the man had forced him to wear a gag for two hours as punishment, alone in the dark.  His fingers twitched and his heart raced as he wondered what Castiel would do to him.

     The other man led him to a small office and as soon as he walked in, Castiel closed the door and locked it.  He paced to the other side of the desk, smiling warmly.  “No interruptions, I feel,” he murmured.  He sat down, gesturing for Dean to do the same.  “I had . . . well, _hoped_ you’d call.”

     Dean cringed.  Proof positive.  _Fuck._  He was full of mistakes these days.  “I’m sorry.  I . . . I should have called ahead.”  He turned the chair, staring at the closed door.  “Did . . . I made things awkward for you, didn’t I?”

     Castiel tilted his head, squinting.  “With Anna?  Not likely.  She’s a Domme much like myself.”  He still smiled though his gaze grew troubled.  “Dean?  Is everything all right?  You seem anxious.”

     He tried to laugh but it cracked and tasted sour in his mouth.  “O-oh, yeah.  I . . . um . . . see . . . did . . . did you mean to give me your number?” he asked, immediately regretting the question.  He winced. 

     “Of course,” Castiel replied quickly but no less honestly.  He leaned forward, his chair squeaking.  “I won’t lie; I’m attracted to you, Dean.  And, if I’m not mistaken, you have been a sub in the past?”

     Dean nodded, almost frantic.  _Yes.  Yes.  Correct me.  Please.  Make me usable again._   He wanted to say the words but couldn’t under that direct gaze, instead dropping his own to stare at the edge of Castiel’s desk.

     “Did you enjoy being a sub?” he asked quietly.

     “Um, yeah.  I . . . wasn’t very good, though,” he admitted.  He squirmed in his chair, feeling Castiel’s gaze on him.  A disobedient, mouthy sub according to Michael.  He’d deserved the punishment he’d earned and like an asshole, had walked.  He was damn lucky Castiel was even talking to him about this.

     “By whose opinion?” he asked, sternly.

     Dean’s gaze snapped up and he quailed inwardly at the fierce look on Castiel’s face.  He licked his lips and shrugged.  “My, uh, last Dom.  He . . . I didn’t listen to him.”

     “Did he listen to you?”

     The question confused Dean.  He frowned, his heart calming some.  “I . . . don’t understand,” he said finally.

     Castiel hadn’t moved, still sat forward, his hands clasped loosely together.  “As a Dom, he should have listened to you.  A Dom is nothing without his sub.  And frankly, if he did only what _he_ wanted, he wasn’t much of a Dom.”  He sat back abruptly and rubbed a finger against his lips.  “I see now why you were triggered so badly.”

     “I was just having an off day,” Dean lied.

      Castiel quirked an eyebrow.  “An _off day_?”  He shook his head.  “No, you had a visceral reaction to something unpleasant.”  Another warm, soft smile.  “You can still be a sub for a Dom; I just believe that cuffs are not something you should engage in.”

     _Oh._   So maybe Dean _was_ broken after all?  His unease seemed to bleed out and he slumped in his chair, rubbing his face.  “Yeah, I get it.  I just . . . kind of . . . I thought maybe you’d be a Dom for me,” he blurted.  _Too soon, too soon!_   He looked up, expecting a sneer or a glare, surprised instead to see shock on Castiel’s face.

     He took a deep breath and drummed his nails on the desk.  “Normally, I’d agree right now.  Draw up a contract, whatever you require.  But Dean, I have a feeling that may not be a wise choice for you.  I don’t wish you to enter into another agreement with a Dom if you only feel you’re _expected_ to.”  His voice softened.  “You were hurt in the past; that much is clear.  But if you simply enter into a contract with me _just_ to have a Dom, you’re only perpetuating that damage.”

     Well, there it was.  Dean nodded once and pushed up from his chair, not meeting Castiel’s eyes.  Michael was right.  He was _ruined._   A broken toy.  Castiel just happened to be a little less brutal abou it.  “Right.  Okay.  I’ll get out of your hair then.”

     “Wait.”  Castiel rose from his chair, coming to Dean’s side, one cool hand resting against his wrist.  He peered into Dean’s eyes, the worry as clear as the week before.  “Dean, do you think I’m reprimanding you?”

     He smiled crookedly, shaking Castiel’s hand off.  “It’s okay.  I get it.  I was bad for Michael and thought . . . maybe you’d fix me.”  It was strange how easy it was for him to speak to Castiel, even in such negative light.  With Michael, talking always seemed a last resort.  As though Dean was simply _expected_ to understand.  But here, in the tiny room, he felt like he could say nearly anything to this strange man. 

     “Fix you?”  Castiel lifted a hand, fingers hovering against Dean’s cheek.  “There is nothing to _fix,_ Dean.  At least, not in the way you seem to think.”  He dropped his hand, once more laying his fingers on Dean’s wrist.  “How long were you with him?” he asked, softly.

     “Um, five years.”  Dean glanced up, shaken to find himself the center of Castiel’s attention again.  He swallowed.  “I, uh, was given to him by my previous Dom, Azazel.”

     Castiel frowned again.  “Given?  Did you agree to that?”

     “Well . . . uh . . .”

     “Dean.  Did you _agree_ to that?”

     “N-no,” he breathed out.  No, he hadn’t.  But Azazel had been irritated with him, angry over how Dean continued to misbehave.  He’d practically thrown Dean at Michael.  _A good practice sub,_ he’d been called.  Too bad that’d been just as wrong.

     He thought he heard Castiel mutter a swear before he asked, “May I touch you?”

      Surprised, Dean blinked at him.  “T-touch?  Um . . . okay.”  He shuddered when Castiel’s hand cupped his jaw.  Warm and soft.  It didn’t take much for him to lean into it, his eyes falling shut in the process.

     “Oh, Dean,” Castiel cooed.  He stroked his thumb against Dean’s cheekbone, sighing.  “Dean, they . . . they are the broken ones.  Not you.  What they did to you was _not_ what a Dom should ever engage in.”  He drew his hand away and Dean missed the heat immediately. 

     Taking both of Dean’s hands in his own, Castiel smiled warmly.  “Dean.  I think I can help you.  And I will help you.  But you must want that help.”

     He fidgeted again, nervous.  “Well . . . yeah.”

      Again, the patient smile.  “If I’m to be your Dom, you must trust me.  You must speak up whenever you’re uncomfortable.  Whenever you’re happy.  I need to know the good and the bad.  If I do anything to hurt you, even if it’s nothing more than a careless word, you need to say something.”

     He went on, his hands still holding Dean’s.  “I suggest, if you’re willing, that we start slow.  A date once a week, just to get used to each other.”  He grinned.  “You may come to find I’m far too annoying for you.”

     Dean shook his head.  “No!  I wouldn’t, I swear!”  _No, no!  I need this!  Please!_

     Another soft sight and a gentle stroke of fingers.  “Slow, Dean.  We need to take this _slow._ ”  He pulled away.  “I want you to trust me with _everything_ in your life.  What frightens you, what pleases you.  You _need_ to trust me.”  His smile twisted into something sad and painful.  “And that trust was assuredly broken by these two men.”

     He almost wanted to whine over the unfairness.  Castiel just needed to take control.  Step in and direct Dean.  Not drag this out.  “Cas, c’mon,” he muttered.  He looked up, startled by the warm grin, and soft eyes.  “Wh-what’s that look for?”

     Castiel chuckled, toying with Dean’s fingers.  “You’ve already given me a nickname, Dean.  I’d say that’s a sign that slow is best, don’t you?”

     An argument burned in his throat but he swallowed it.  Maybe slow was best.  If it meant that eventually, Castiel would take control.  He could withstand a few dates for that, right?  He swallowed, fighting his nerves.  “Okay,” he breathed.  “Slow.”

     Castiel raised one of his hands, kissing the knuckles gently.  “As slow as necessary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the moment, I have three chapters completed. This is a record for me. Don't expect it to continue. :D
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

     They agreed on dinner together at a local restaurant the following Tuesday.  To say that Dean was nervous as hell for the next three days would have been an understatement.  He grew snappish at work, often dropping tools in his clumsiness.  Bobby had reprimanded him more than once for it and Dean only flinched, thinking it a terrible sign of what was to come.  It was with great relief he left the auto shop that afternoon, hurrying home to change into something pleasant for Castiel.

     He dressed in dark jeans and a collared shirt and tie, fumbling with the knot as he did.  He hadn’t bothered to ask Castiel what he liked his sub to wear.  Hadn’t really bothered to ask much.  In fact, he hadn’t even _called_ the man since Saturday.  He moaned faintly, covering his face with both hands.  He was already failing this.  He had to wonder how angry Castiel would be with him.

     They’d arranged meet at the restaurant in separate cars and Dean drove too fast to the Italian bistro, fidgeting in his seat as he did.  He arrived early, turning his music up loud to drown out the ugly thoughts in his head.  By now, his brain spun like a damn tilt-a-whirl, coming up with every dark scenario he could conceive of.  All of them ending with Castiel refusing to take him as a sub.  The moment he spied Castiel’s unruly hair, he snapped off the ignition and bolted from the car, trotting across the parking lot to the man’s side.

     Castiel smiled warmly, his eyes dragging across Dean’s form.  He’d dressed in a tight waistcoat and charcoal gray button-down and dark blue tie, with dark slacks.  “You look very handsome tonight, Dean.”

     Surprised by the compliment, Dean blurted, “I didn’t ask you what you liked.”

     Castiel stopped in front of the restaurant, placing a hand on Dean’s forearm.  “What I like?  In terms of what?”  He didn’t sound angry, only curious.  With the odd tilt of his head, he reminded Dean of a bird.

     He played with the end of his tie.  “Um, what to wear.  I should have asked.”

     “Why?”

     _Why_?  Confused, Dean let go of the garment, frowning at Castiel.  “But . . . I mean, don’t you . . . want that?”

     Castiel’s hand was still warm on his forearm.  “Do you?”  He rubbed Dean’s arm, pursing his lips.  “Before you answer that, let me ask this:  where are you most comfortable subbing?”

     Okay, that was easy.  “Wherever you want me,” he answered, a bit too quickly, probably. 

     “That wasn’t what I asked, Dean,” Castiel reminded him.  Not angry.  Concerned.  “Where are _you_ most comfortable in that role?”

     _Home_ snapped into his head so fast he repeated the word aloud before he could process it.  He paled as he did, already knowing it to be the wrong response.  Michael had told him “ _whenever and wherever I desire it._ ”  It had always unnerved him, left him stressed and humiliated at times.  But it was what Michael had wanted and when Dean didn’t follow, the results could be fairly ugly.  Even after all those _lessons_ from Michael, he still got it wrong.

     Castiel looped his arm in Dean’s and nodded, still smiling.  “As I thought.  Because of that, I will never tell you what to wear unless you ask me for my opinion.”  He squeezed Dean’s arm as he pulled open the restaurant’s door.  “You are not a doll to me, Dean.  You have opinions and feelings and I intend to respect that.”  He halted again as Dean followed him in.  Dropping his voice, he added, “Only if you are comfortable with public subbing would I ask it of you.  Never feel pressure to behave in a way that you’re uneasy with.”

     Dean couldn’t think of a protest to that.  He fell silent, following behind Castiel as they entered the restaurant.  Castiel had clearly made reservations earlier and they were led toward the back, in a quiet, secluded section.  Dean, for one, was relieved.  It meant if Castiel changed his mind about anything, Dean had some cushion of secrecy.  The restaurant was darkly lit, leaving them further shrouded.

     As they sat, Dean picked up a menu, sightlessly reading it.  His eyes widened, however, when they landed on the prices.  Spendy-ass place!  He swallowed nervously, wondering if that meant Castiel wanted sex later.  They hadn’t even discussed that.  Dean was clean following his time with Azazel and Michael, so no worries there.  Oddly, neither had wanted bareback with him which Dean had always taken to be a mark against him.  Probably Castiel would want the same.  He tried to see the idea of fucking later as a bonus but his stomach swirled uneasily instead.

     “Are you all right?” Castiel asked quietly, lowering his menu. 

     “Mmhmm,” Dean responded, unsure of what to say.  Did he just _ask_ about sex?  Or, was this like Michael?  A test of some kind?  Maybe Castiel hadn’t been honest with him about public subbing.  Maybe he wanted it after all but, like Michael, enjoyed the surprise and humiliation that often came with it.

     “You’re lying, Dean,” Castiel said simply, picking up his water glass.  He took a swallow and set it down, laying his menu down as well.  “You are _extremely_ uneasy.  I can hear your breathing patterns changing.”  He didn’t touch Dean but did lean forward, focusing on Dean as he did.  “What’s wrong?”

      Dean swallowed.  “Um.  Nothing?”

     Castiel chuckled warmly.  “Nothing, hm?  I find that hard to believe.”  He didn’t continue, though, given the arrival of their waiter.  He ordered a tomato-basil pasta dish and turned to Dean, waiting. 

     Still unsettled, Dean ordered the first thing his gaze landed on; a heavy dish of lasagna.  He wanted to correct himself as it looked like one of the spendier dishes but the waiter had already turned away, heading off to bring a bottle of wine that Castiel had requested.

      Goddammit; he just kept fucking up.  He rubbed his forehead, glancing up to find Castiel still watching him.  Blushing, and thankful for the darkness that hid it, he mumbled, “You . . . um . . . we haven’t talked about . . . sex, yet.”

     Thankfully, Castiel only nodded.  “True.  Because it’s not on the table at the moment.”

     “Huh?”

     Castiel’s dark eyes darted up to him, warm and kind.  “Dean.  I have no intention of sleeping with you until you desire it.  I’m not about to force myself on you.”  He sighed, not annoyed.  “I admit, that will test me at times; you’re an exceptionally gorgeous man.  But, if you are to trust me, I need to wait until you are ready.  That’s it.  There’s no negotiation there.”

     That didn’t make _any_ sense.  How could Castiel be a Dom if he wasn’t using Dean?  They’d just be . . . dating.  Right?  He squirmed in his chair, frustrated and annoyed.  “But what are you getting out of it?” he asked.

     Castiel didn’t answer immediately, waiting for their waiter to pour out two glasses of wine before he’d respond.  He picked up his glass and sipped.  “You’ve clearly not had the _pleasure_ of enjoying someone else’s delight.”  He smiled.  “Dean, I’m a Dom because I enjoy the control I take.  I also take immense pleasure and satisfaction in encouraging my sub’s arousal.  Why would I force discomfort on you for my own needs if it wasn’t something you enjoyed?”  He was frowning again, but clearly not at Dean; seemingly more for the situation.  “Was this a common technique of theirs?  To take what they wanted whether or not it was freely given?”

     “I guess,” Dean hedged.  He’d gotten into subbing when he’d attempted college.  The stress there had been too much and he’d broken away from it, but not until after he’d heard of D/s relationships.  He’d found a few clubs, friends of friends, the basic circle of information.  Then Azazel had walked in and taken over.  And initially, it had been okay.

     Azazel was strong and forceful and Dean had enjoyed being pinned down by the man.  But eventually, things were less enjoyable for him and more anxiety-ridden.  It became hard to guess Azazel’s moods.  What one day turned him on, pissed him off the next.  After a while, Dean found himself walking on eggshells around the other man.  And then Azazel had found another sub; a woman named Meg.  When Dean had come home early from work, he’d found the two together.  Azazel had laughed in his face and then informed him he was done with Dean.  Sent him off to Michael.

     At the time, Sam wasn’t in town yet and Dean didn’t have a place to stay so he’d gone.  And fuck . . . he wished he hadn’t.  Michael was handsome and charming but violent.  He enjoyed leaving marks on Dean.  Bruises, wounds; didn’t matter.  As a Dom, Michael had been all about _possession._   Dean was _his._   He’d say as much almost every day.  His to do with as he pleased.  Built for _him._   It was all Dean was good for.  He’d failed school, failed Azazel; Michael was doing him a favor.  Giving him _purpose._   And Dean had pissed on that by walking away.

     All this flashed through his head as he sat across from Castiel, toying with his wine glass.  He still had Michael’s number; hadn’t the courage to delete it from his phone, apparently.  And maybe all this was just a delay of the inevitable.  Maybe he just needed to head back to Michael.  Grovel and beg for forgiveness, even as the idea made him want to vomit.

     “Dean,” Castiel began, his voice low and soft.  “They never should have asked that of you.  They should have guided you.  Learned with you regarding what you liked and what you didn’t.”  He fell silent again as their food arrived, picking up his fork to twirl it in his pasta.  “Please don’t blame yourself for the mistakes they made.”

     Dean took a large forkful of his pasta, tasting nothing as he chewed at it.  Admittedly, he didn’t enjoy being harmed or to be humiliated.  He liked to have someone take him over, though.  Leave him helpless with pleasure.  He used to love being tied up.  Exposed while Michael worked him over with his mouth, bringing him to orgasm.  But Michael had stopped that fairly quickly, forcing Dean to his knees to bring himself off most nights.

     It was muddy in his head, though.  Wasn’t it all the same?  Michael shoving him to his knees or spreading his legs with ropes; all the same, right?  Either way, he was serving someone.  Giving them what _they_ wanted so he might get a little of the same in return.  A means to an end. 

     He felt his frustration burn like a fever under his skin, his fingers white-knuckled against his fork.  “Look, I already agreed to be your sub,” he hissed, only belatedly noticing the widening of Castiel’s eyes.  “Quit dragging this shit out, all right?”  As soon as the words slipped free, Dean went cold.  He recognized it in the narrowing of Castiel’s eyes.  Another Dom angry.  But punishment always meant some pleasure.  So . . . it was okay, right?  In the end, he’d get what he wanted, even if it was a sliver.

     Castiel set down his fork and wiped his lips.  He took a sip of wine and murmured, “Is that what they taught you?”

     Confused and admittedly nervous, Dean only shrugged, poking at his food. 

     Another sip.  “Why do you want so desperately to be punished, Dean?”  His voice remained quiet, not loud enough to be overheard.  “Are you aroused by it?”

     The question left him even more flummoxed.  “N-no, but –“

     Castiel picked up his fork, eyebrows lifted.  “Then why would I punish you?”

     Frustrated, Dean rubbed his face.  “Then . . . how do I get what I want?” he breathed, not even aware that he’d said the words until he felt Castiel’s warm fingers on his wrist.

     The other man smiled again, all softness and warmth.  “Because you’ll tell me what you want.”

     “I don’t know what I want,” Dean admitted, turned around, his appetite completely destroyed.  He felt nervous in this quiet place.  The light clink of silverware against plates.  The hushed conversation.  He felt like crawling out of his skin he was so out of place. 

     “What would make you happiest right now?” Castiel asked, his chair creaking as he sat forward.

     Not looking up, Dean continued to poke at his food.  “Driving,” he stated.  The Impala was the best stress-reliever he owned.  Something about her roar and the windows down.  The road stretching out before him.  He could get lost in her tiny universe. 

     “Then we’ll do that.” 

      Dean’s head snapped up and he frowned.  “What?”  But Castiel wasn’t paying attention, instead signaling the waiter for a check and to-go boxes.  “Wait, Cas.  What?”

     Castiel sat back, grinning.  “You said a drive would make you happy.  So, we’ll do that.”

     “Just . . . just like that?” he asked, stunned.

     “Well, yes.”  He took the check with a nod and stuffed a few bills inside, before handing it off to the waiter.  He began shoveling his half-eaten dinner into one of the to-go boxes, gesturing for Dean to do the same.  “If this will make you comfortable, Dean, I see no reason not to.”

     Dean hadn’t moved though, simply stared at Castiel.  “Why?”

     That caught his attention.  Castiel paused in his work, looking up.  Even in the shadows, Dean could see Castiel’s eyes darken in sympathy.  “Because I want you happy, Dean.  If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”  He closed up the box and set it aside, grabbing the spare one and Dean’s plate, repeating the actions.  “I swear,” he muttered, “if I ever meet either of these men, I’ll remind them what a Dom is.”  He glanced up at Dean, smiling faintly.  “I don’t know how else to make you understand, Dean, then to simply _do._ ”

    A simple sense of comfort began to wriggle in Dean’s chest.  He swallowed harshly, startled by it.  Did . . . did Castiel actually _mean_ these things?  It seemed so stupid to go out of his way to _pretend_ to want to go for a drive simply to fuck Dean later.  But before he knew it, Castiel had their meals boxed up and slipped them into the paper bag the waiter brought.  He stood, beckoning for Dean to do the same.

     “Lead the way,” he chimed.

     Unsure of what else to do, Dean did exactly that.  He walked in a bit of a haze out of the restaurant, digging through his pockets for the keys.  He fumbled them a few times, nearly dropping them before they got to the car.

     “This is yours?” Castiel asked.

     Dean nodded as he unlocked Castiel’s door.

    “Gorgeous,” the man mused.  He shifted the to-go bag to his other hand as he pulled open the door, looking toward Dean and grinning.  “I mean that, Dean.  It’s a beautiful car.”

     He tried not to swell with pride at that.  He’d done all he could to keep her maintained over the years.  Hell, she was the reason he started the auto restoration business with Bobby when the whole college thing had fallen out on him.  He shrugged and swallowed, hurrying to the driver’s side.  “Um, my dad bought her right after he married my mom.  Kind of . . . a family heirloom, I guess.”

     Over the Impala’s roof, Castiel murmured, “It shows, Dean,” before he ducked down and slipped inside.

     It took a second for Dean’s brain to kick back in and he all but fell inside the Impala, the car shuddering as he slammed the door.  He winced and mumbled an apology, jamming the key in the ignition.  Music blared and he flinched, slapping the stereo volume knob.  His cheeks were flaming hot, his fingers trembling.  Dean jumped when Castiel touched his hand.

     “Dean,” he started, his voice calm and quiet, “if this is making you uncomfortable –“

     “No!”  He winced again.  “No, I’m fine.  I swear.  I’m just . . . it’s odd,” he admitted.  He sat back, the seat creaking under him.

     “What is?” Castiel asked, cradling their dinners in his lap.

     “Just . . . this,” he replied vaguely, waving his hand.  He looked over at Castiel and then away, placing his hands on the steering wheel.  “It’s just odd.  I mean . . . it’s been a while since I was a sub, I guess.  I’m just getting used to it.”

     “Hm.  Not quite what you mean but that’s all right.”

     He frowned.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”  He knew he was being combative but he couldn’t figure out how it was that Castiel seemed to know _exactly_ what he was supposedly thinking when Dean himself couldn’t even really figure it out.  It rankled but also, weirdly, thrilled him.  Neither Michael nor Azazel cared enough to find out about _Dean._   He was there for their pleasure.  That was it.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Castiel actually _did_ care.

     Castiel took a breath, lifting his head slightly.  He peered at Dean from the corner of his eye.  “You don’t trust me just yet, Dean.  Which I expect.  As such, you’re not about to tell me _everything._   Something I _also_ expected.”  He smiled.  “You don’t need all the answers now.  But perhaps, you understand why I said _slow_?”

     Dean said nothing, only clenched his jaw and turned back to the Impala.  Slow was bad, though.  Slow meant . . . well, he wasn’t really sure what it meant.  Wasn’t sure why it was _bad_ either.  It was just . . . if Castiel didn’t take charge, how would Dean know how not to anger him?  How to keep him _happy_?  He claimed he wanted Dean happy but that . . . well, he didn’t really mean that, did he?

     Dean’s head burned with the same sequence of thoughts as they left the parking lot and headed down the highway.  He wasn’t certain where they should drive so he headed toward his own preferred destination.  Out among the fields, away from the city and its noise.  Castiel didn’t seem to have a preference and he merely sat quietly beside Dean, his fingers tapping against the bag in time to the radio.

     Despite his tension and general confusion, the lull of the Impala’s engine finally began to get to Dean.  His shoulders eased and he leaned back in his seat, sinking into the interior.  After a bit more, it was nothing more than the rumble of the road the grasses flashing by.  They drove for another half hour before he found what he was looking for.  A small hill, overlooking farmland.  He pulled off the road, the gravel and dirt crunching under the Impala’s wheels.

     Castiel said nothing – _had_ said nothing the entire drive – and exited the car, taking their dinner with him.  The two of them walked up the short hill and Dean sighed, taking in the sight.  The town was still in view but the stars were a bit more noticeable here.  He’d had enough foresight to grab a blanket from the backseat given the sudden chill in the air but realized quickly they’d either have to sit on the blanket or in the dirt.

     Castiel didn’t wait but simply plunked himself down, looking up when Dean didn’t move.  “Something wrong?” he asked.

     “Your . . . pants.  They’ll get dirty,” he pointed out, sitting down awkwardly.

      Shrugging, Castiel pulled their food out, handing one to Dean.  “They’re pants.  It’s why I have a dry cleaner.”  He winked at Dean and handed him a plastic fork.  “This is much better, Dean.  It’s quite lovely out here.”

     Dean grabbed the blanket, setting it across both their shoulders before opening up his to-go box.  The food was lukewarm, but somehow tasted better than it had in the restaurant.  Like Castiel had said, it was lovely out here.  The cars were a distant shush in the background, very few using the road behind them.  The wind hummed in the air, followed by the faint lowing of cows.  Much better than overhearing a bunch of strangers babble about their day.

     They ate quietly, Castiel wriggling close to Dean as he did, sighing happily when he managed to get Dean to shift his arm, looping it around his waist.  Dean found he liked the contact.  Like the heat of Castiel’s body under his arm, though it made eating awkward.  Even that, he kind of enjoyed.  Castiel didn’t seem to want much more than his touch at the moment. 

     With the food gone, they sat for a bit longer under the stars before Dean’s ass began to complain and he shifted, bumping Castiel in the process.  The other man chuckled, smiling at him.  “Uncomfortable?” he mused.

     Dean laughed a bit.  “Uh, yeah.  Ground’s a bit hard.”

     Castiel nodded and shifted, grunting as he stood.  He gathered their discarded food boxes, tucking them back into the bag.  He inclined his head toward the car.  “Shall we?  I for one am quite chilly; even with the added heat source,” he remarked, smirking.

     Reddening, Dean scrambled to his feet, grabbing the blanket that had fallen from their shoulders.  The returned to the car, heading back to the restaurant, most of Dean’s tension long gone by that point.  He pulled back into the lot, pulling in beside Castiel’s car.

     He yawned, hiding his mouth for a moment.  “I’d say that went well, don’t you?”

     Dean managed a weak smile, nodding.  Well, now was the time.  Castiel would probably give him directions to his house . . . or maybe he’d just take Dean in his car?  It wasn’t working the way he’d expected and he was a bit turned around, trying to guess the next step.  He blinked in surprise when the Impala’s door opened and Castiel swung around to slide out.

     “Cas?” he asked, confused.

     Castiel halted, craning his neck to meet Dean’s eyes.  “I told you,” he murmured, “not up for negotiation at the moment.”  He reached out, stroking Dean’s cheek.  “Eventually, yes.  But . . . not now.”

     “But . . . what if I said I wanted that?” 

     Castiel took a deep breath, squinting.  “You don’t mean it.  You _think_ you do, but you don’t.”

     “How can you say that?” Dean snapped, his fingers scraping the steering wheel.

     Again that warm smile.  “Because, if you truly wanted it, you wouldn’t be arguing with me right now.  You’re nervous, Dean.  Nerves are a sign that you’re uneasy or unhappy.  You were calm and quiet on the hill.  Pliant.  Here?  You’re like steel.”  He touched Dean’s cheek again, his fingers cool.  “ _When_ we have sex, I want you pliant.  I want you enjoying it.  To do so now would be unpleasant for you.”

     Dean sagged in his seat, pulling away.  His skin felt tight and his eyes burned.  “If . . . if you’re trying to find a way to say I’m a bad sub, you don’t have to come up with shit.  You can just say it.”  He yelped when Castiel grabbed him by the chin, wrenching his head around.

     There was no anger in the man’s eyes but a ferocity he hadn’t expected.  It made him tremble with worry and burn with arousal all at once.  For the first time, the intensity wasn’t a direct result of _him,_ but rather _for_ him.  He’d never felt that.  Not even from his family.  He licked his lips, fingers scratching at his jeans.

     Though Castiel’s eyes were hard, his voice stayed soft.  “Dean, you are _not_ a terrible sub.  _They_ were terrible Doms.”  His hand loosened and he cupped Dean’s chin, stroking the bottom lip with his thumb.  “To have a man like you _eager_ to submit to me is _thrilling._ ”  He leaned in, kissing Dean once, his lips little more than a brush of skin.  “But,” he whispered, “I want you to enjoy that submission.  I don’t want you pressured into that.”  He smiled, kissing Dean again, just as chaste and sweetly.  “Will you do that for me?  Will you wait until you are ready?”

     Dean wanted to refuse, to _demand_ they start but . . . he wasn’t entirely sure _why._   Why did he just want Castiel to use him?  To be honest, he hadn’t liked it when Azazel and Michael just _played_ with him. He’d felt used and cheap.  Unclean.  In the beginning, it had been about shared power.  Delight and pleasure.  But over time, it had all soured into something he’d been ashamed of.  He didn’t want that again.  He wanted to submit, he did.  But he wanted to submit to someone who’d be just as eager to take him apart.  Turn him inside out.

     He swallowed, nodding.  “Okay,” he breathed.

    “Very good, my pet,” Castiel cooed.  He stroked Dean’s cheek again.  “Call me in the morning.  We’ll talk further, pet.”  He slipped out of the car and headed to his own, not looking back.

     It wasn’t until Dean was halfway to home he realized Castiel had given him a name.  The smile stayed with him until he managed to fall asleep, a few hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty, going forward, the updates will be slower. :D I just had a good run at the moment of writing nervous!Dean and kind!Cas. :D Again, don't hesitate to call me out if I write something in wrong. Dean/Azazel and Dean/Michael were not good D/s relationships because they were uneven. I'm intending to show that Cas/Dean is a good one in that they both give and take. ;3
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

     The next day, once again, Dean fidgeted at work.  Given his constant movement, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see a groove in the concrete of the vehicle bays.  He knew Castiel had given him a _sort of_ order to call.  However, he hadn’t bothered to check when an appropriate time might be.  Or if he was to use the private number.  Or maybe the work number.  So, he paced and rearranged tools, went over appointments, then repeated everything.  Twice.

     By eleven, Bobby kept throwing him the stink eye but Dean hadn’t stopped roving around the shop.  He and Bobby were partners in the restoration business but Dean didn’t think for one second he was actually the one in charge.  Bobby never hesitated to put him in his place.  Even so, he found himself unable to stop moving and after picking up the same torque wrench for the fifth time in a span of five minutes, he wasn’t all that surprised to hear Bobby sigh.

     He looked over his shoulder, hiding the wince.  “Problem?” he tossed off, smearing a fake grin on his face.

     Bobby glowered, throwing down the manual in his hands.  “I don’t know what crawled up your goddamn ass this week, boy, but you keep moving like that, I’m chaining you down.”  He stood and crossed to Dean’s side, yanking out the torque wrench.  “Go in the office.  Answer calls.  I don’t want to see you until you’ve calmed down.”

     Chagrined, Dean nodded, swallowing.  He paced into his office and shut the door, staring at his computer and phone.  This was exactly where he needed to be and the one place he didn’t _want_ to be.  Right now was the perfect time to call Castiel.  The perfect time to check in with his new Dom.  Hell, he probably already had a massive black check mark next to his name given it was nearly noon and he hadn’t called the man.  He swallowed rapidly, wondering how Castiel sounded when angry.  Did he shout or did his voice lower and turn to ice?

     He sat down gingerly, his heart pounding.  Instead of using the work phone, he dug out his cell and found Castiel’s listing.  His finger hovered over the bright digits and squeezing his eyes shut, he jabbed his finger down, hoping he hit the right button.  He opened one eye, to see “dialing…” lit up in green letters.

     He held his breath and lifted it to his ear, hoping to _God_ that Castiel wouldn’t answer.  Not surprisingly, God was ignoring him today.

     “ _Good morning, this is Castiel._ ”

     Dean’s breath left in a pop of air and he blurted, “I should have called earlier; I’m sorry!”  His hand clenched spastically atop the arm of his chair and he jiggled his foot, waiting for the agreement.  He’d always been told to contact Michael at 10:05 every morning if he hadn’t spent the night with the man.  To the minute.  For all of Castiel’s assurances, he _still_ should have found out the proper time. 

     “ _Dean?  Please tell me you’re sitting down,_ ” he murmured.

      Confused, Dean leaned back and made a small noise of assent.  He shifted again, licking his lips.  “I should have asked last night.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to –“

     “ _Dean.  Please, stop._ ”  Castiel sighed.  “ _I should have realized how much they controlled you._ ”  He cleared his throat.  “ _I might have given you a name last night, Dean, but this was not an order.  I merely wished for you to call me so that I knew you had a pleasant time.  Not a reprimand.  And if I felt you_ needed _to call me at a specific time, I should have stated that.  I apologize for misleading you._ ”

     Dean blinked.  Why would Castiel have anything to be sorry for?  It was Dean who always managed to miss what his Dom needed.  _Dean_ was the one who’d fucked up; not Castiel.  He wanted to say as much but for the first time, the words failed him and he merely swallowed, staring sightlessly ahead. 

     Castiel chuckled over the line, though the sound came across sad rather than amused.  “ _Dean, I do not expect you to read my mind._ Ever _._ ”  He hummed.  “ _Where are you?_ ”

     “My office.”

     “ _Good.  It’s clear you’re having an anxiety attack.  I want you to remain on the phone with me until your heart rate is slow again and you’re breathing calmer._ ”  Oddly, Dean could almost see the patient smile on the man’s lips.  “ _I realize we didn’t talk much last night.  So, would you mind telling me what it is you do, Dean?_ ”

     Stunned, Dean stared at the screensaver on his computer.  He sat back by degrees, the leather chair creaking under his hips.  He glanced at his left hand, startled to see his knuckles standing out white as he gripped the arm.  His skin felt fever hot and his blood pounded in his ears.  “Um.  Auto restoration.  I . . . own a place with my uncle.  Er, sort-of uncle.”

     “ _That sounds like a story._ ”  Castiel’s voice was silky soft and warm.  Like eddies of a lake.  “ _I would like to hear it, if that’s all right._ ”

     “It’s . . . not much to tell, really,” he mumbled.  He licked his lips again, trying to beat back the urge to chew on them.  “He was a friend of my dad’s.  He used to watch over me and my brother when Dad would go on benders.  Took us in when Dad died.”  He sat back, sinking into his chair, his hand loosening against the arm rest.  “Helped me and Sam out,” he finished.  There was a great deal more to that story but Castiel likely didn’t need or want to hear all the dirty secrets.  All it would do is color his already poor perception of Dean, most likely. 

     “ _I can tell by the state of your Impala that restoration is something you have a knack for,_ ” Castiel remarked.  Dean could hear the quiet click of keys and the occasional rustle of paper.  It was then he realized he’d likely caught Castiel at work.

     Immediately, panic welled up again and he lunged forward.  “Shit, Cas.  I’m calling you at work, aren’t I?”  He began to ramble off more apologies but Castiel’s warm voice halted him.

     “ _Dean, I_ asked _you to call me today.  Today is a work day.  I’d be cruel to be angry with you for calling me at work._ ”  Castiel fell silent for a moment.  “ _Besides, I enjoy your voice, Dean.  You are a very . . . enthusiastic man.  You have passion in your voice.  It’s refreshing._ ”

     Dean screwed up his face and without thinking remarked, “Only opera singers have passion in their voices.”  He winced and slapped his hand to his forehead. 

     Castiel’s genuine laugh startled him.  “ _And there is, of course, that.  You’re combative.  Also enjoyable._ ”

     Dean squinted.  “You _like_ that I mouth off?”

     “ _Dean, I’m not interested in a slave.  I don’t want you silent and beautiful.  As a Dom, I want someone who will give over to me but is also independent._ ”  He clucked his tongue.  “ _Besides, if I find you saying something I don’t care for, I’ll be sure to correct you._ ” 

     _You have your work cut out for you,_ he admitted silently.  He sat back again, feeling his heart slow bit by bit.  “You . . . uh, you ever been interested in a classic car?”

     “ _I’m partial to Mustangs, I admit,_ ” Castiel replied. 

     It went on like that for another hour.  Simple talk about cars and movies Dean had seen.  He found that Castiel wasn’t much for the box office but he assured Dean that he’d join him soon for something explosive and loud.  Castiel shared his love of reading with Dean, launching into a glowing review for some dramatic book he’d just finished and Dean couldn’t help but smile at Castiel’s affection for it.

     The small talk they’d missed out on the night before turned into Castiel’s revelation of being an only child but that he’d amassed a startling array of surrogate family members, such as Anna who worked for him.  He’d experienced being a sub once in his life, in college (much like Dean) but had preferred the other end of the spectrum.  To the point that both he and Anna traded monthly classes for instruction of Doms.

     Dean also learned that Castiel had had two prior subs:  One, a man named Samandriel who lived with his Dom in New York and the other a woman named Hiel who’d decided to leave the D/s world behind and made a living as a photographer in Europe.

     Feeling calmer, cradling his phone, Dean asked, “How long since you’ve had a long-term sub?”

     “ _A while, I admit.  Three years._ ”

      Surprising.  Given Castiel’s looks, Dean thought for sure he’d gone through more than the two subs he had.  To have that much of a dry spell?  He couldn’t figure that out.  “Why?” he asked.

     Castiel didn’t answer immediately.  When he did, his voice was slow and quiet.  “ _I . . . wanted something different, I suppose.  The few subs I had interacted with after Hiel were not interested in what I had in mind._ ”

     Dean scrunched up his face.  He hoped to _God_ it wasn’t something he’d be repulsed by.  “Not like . . . water sports or something?”

     Castiel’s laugh was refreshing.  “ _No, Dean.  I assure you, I enjoy bondage and some aspects of pain but anything requiring bodily functions other than those expected, I’m not interested in._ ”  Still amused, his tone light, he continued.  “ _No, I’m afraid it was something else entirely.  But don’t let that detract you, Dean.  I am committed to helping you if you wish it.  Please don’t think I have half my attention on you._ ”

     Dean squirmed, warmed now by a different heat.  The concern and genuine affection in Castiel’s voice was startling.  He’d been so used to anger from a Dom that it splashed like cold water in his ears.  And likely, given Dean’s uneasiness all day, it wasn’t all that surprising he found himself getting hard. 

     He dragged his fingernails down his thigh, feeling the denim snag at the bitten ends.  He shifted again, wanted to press his hand against his growing dick and knowing it the _Wrong Thing To Do_.  Biting his lip, he murmured, “You, uh, said slow, right?”

     “ _I did._ ”  Castiel went silent for a moment.  “ _However, I would very much like to see you again sooner, rather than later.  I believe . . . I’m a bit greedy.  Would you be up for dinner again tomorrow?_ ”  Dean had to be out of sorts given he _thought_ he heard uncertainty in the man’s deep voice.

     Dean gripped the inside of his thigh, squeezing hard, imagining it Castiel’s hand on his cock.  He shut his eyes tight, horrified and turned on.  Fuck, what a _freak_ Castiel would think him if he knew what Dean was doing.  Getting hard just like that?  Like some creep stalker on a phone.  Was he that hard up for something?  Jesus, no wonder Michael and Azazel tossed him so quickly. 

    Hoping his words would remain steady, Dean answered, “Yeah.  I can do that.”

    The warm chuckle made his cock leap and his hips jerked, a blush burning into his cheeks at the same time.  “ _Good.  Good.  Text me a place you’d like to meet at tomorrow.  Seven o’clock._ ”  He heard footsteps this time before Castiel’s voice returned.  “ _I think you’re calm again, Dean.  You sound better than you did._ ”

      He opened his eyes slowly, avoiding looking down at his over-excited crotch.  “Um, thanks.  I mean that,” he answered honestly.  He didn’t even know how that could be possible given that his heartbeat sounded like a freight train in his ears and he didn’t think he’d breathed in the last minute.

     “ _Please.  Any time you feel panicked, don’t hesitate to call me, Dean.  I can help you._ ”  He paused.  “ _I_ want _to help you.  You are not a burden to me, Dean._ ”

     Once again, Dean seized up in surprise.  For a moment, he almost believed the man.  But then his past surged in again and he slumped down, sobering almost instantly.  “Thanks,” he replied, wondering if either Samandriel or Hiel had been remotely troublesome for Castiel.  Dean would likely make him regret ever being a Dom at this rate. 

     Unaware, Castiel remained silent for a moment before speaking again.  “ _I should let you return to work, Dean.  Remember; choose a place that will make you comfortable._ ”  He said his goodbyes and the phone went silent in Dean’s hand.

     He almost threw it across the room as though it had turned into a poisonous snake.  Instead, he opened his hand and it thumped to the floor, sliding under his desk.  He arched his neck back, fingers digging into the arms of his chair.  Still hard.  Still fucking hard from _talking_ to the man.  How the _fuck_ was that possible?

     Ashamed but horny, Dean unzipped his pants with one hand and rummaged in his desk for the bottle of lube he kept there.  He’d always assumed one day he’d yank it at work but it had always been more of an immature dream on his part.  Not an actual _need._   But here he was, pants open, dick out and wet, and he felt miserable.

     Throwing his head back again, he shut his eyes and began stroking himself, hips bucking up slightly with each pass.  The lube was cold and his hand too tight but he kept pulling, feeling that lovely thrill start swirling in his spine.  Biting his lip, he called up an image of his torture, all tousled dark hair and bright eyes.

     He could see Castiel in loose, dark clothing, commanding him to kneel.  His arms yanked above him, rope bound to his wrists, looped through a ring in the ceiling.  His legs wrapped in more rope, forced to remain at his knees, unable to move.  His cock throbbed at the idea.  Of him pinned and helpless.  Hard and naked while this man stood before him.

     _“Open your mouth, my pet._ ”  Castiel’s dream-voice surged through him and he whimpered, envisioning the eagerness in which he’d swallow the man’s cock.  Feel it slide hard and rough across his tongue.  That wonderful sour-sweet taste forced into his throat.  Choking his air, tears in his eyes and spit trickling past his lips.

     He jerked harder on his dick, wanting that _now._   Wanting Castiel to take him.  To use him completely.  Remind him what he was good for.  The _only_ thing he was good for.  A toy.  A _usable_ toy.  Hands fisted in his hair.  Praising his pet.  Fucking Dean’s mouth while he moaned and begged, his hard cock leaking between his trapped legs. 

     Dean exploded over his fingers with a pained gasp, half rising out of his chair as he did.  He shivered and shook, fingers trembling, come spattering his hand and the edge of his desk.  What little ecstasy he took from the fantasy soured immediately and he swallowed, feeling hollow. 

     “You stupid fucker,” he rasped.  He found an old handkerchief in the same drawer he hid his lube in and yanked it out, cleaning himself up and wiping off the desk.  He tossed it in the garbage and stood up on wobbly legs, trying to make himself presentable.  As long as Bobby stayed out of his office, he probably wouldn’t think he’d been up to anything.  But for Dean, the stink of come filled his nostrils and without thinking, he began to scratch his wrist, pain sparking under his nails.

     Feeling as composed as he could be, he leaned down and picked up his phone, startled to see a message on it.  He unlocked the phone and found a text from Castiel.

     _If I could suggest a place for dinner, somewhere we can drive to.  I admit, I might be a bit attached to your car already._

     Despite his shame over what had just happened in his office, Dean couldn’t help but grin a little.  It faded, however, when he realized how far he had to go to be a good sub.  If anything, his anxiety attack and the ill-timed masturbation were proof enough.  He sighed and tucked his phone in his pocket, turning his thoughts to choosing a restaurant for tomorrow.

     Maybe if he kept himself busy, he could ignore all the things he kept doing wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Dean. Just doesn't understand that Cas _wants_ him, body and soul. Silly man. Good thing that Cas is a very stubborn man. :D
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

     If Dean thought he’d been on edge for their first date together, it was nothing compared to the two weeks that followed.  Two weeks of steady dates.  Quiet nights.  Of _nothing._   True to his word, Castiel did _nothing_ remotely pressuring.  He talked, he smiled, he laughed but he didn’t touch Dean.  Well, not much more than a fleeting caress of fingers or a warm kiss to the cheek.  Twice, he’d stroked Dean’s hair and to Dean’s absolute horror, he’d whimpered and leaned into it.

     What kind of fucking idiot was he?  Dean was so starved for a Dom that he just broke like that?  He’d seen the flush on Castiel’s face.  Even his Dom was embarrassed at Dean’s lack of control.  Just proved he couldn’t learned a damn thing.  This slow business wasn’t going to change Dean; it was just pointing out where he was flawed.  Castiel had to see that.  Maybe that was why he refrained from touching Dean much.  Maybe he was looking for an out.

     Dean’s head swam with such thoughts as time _crawled_.  He looked forward to the nights out with Castiel but couldn’t ignore the craving that simmered under his skin.  The way his nerves frayed with each passing day.  He managed to get his work done, not be distracted, but if he dared to call Castiel during the day, inevitably, he ended up hard and uncomfortable, forced to squeeze one out before risking the outside world.  He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe Michael really was right.  Maybe Dean was just beyond hopeless. 

     If that was the case, though, why did Castiel keep arranging dates?  Was it nothing more than Dean as eye candy?  He’d mentioned early on he thought Dean attractive.  Could be he just wanted the companionship.  Or the appearance of it.  Dean had caught more than one person looking their way when they went out.  Castiel could very well be getting his jollies from something as simple as that. 

     Not that it made Dean feel any better.  In fact, most nights after their dates, he went home stressed and confused, waiting for the ball to drop.  Why did Castiel keep prolonging things?  Why wouldn’t he just take Dean home and fuck him already?  His dreams in the last few days had been raw and visceral; Castiel taking him any number of ways, using Dean.  Even humiliating him; something he’d always hated.

     With a jolt, Dean realized that was the problem.  Hiding his sudden insight, he leaned over his appointment book, staring blindly at the next week’s jobs, pencil twiddling in his hand.  That was the problem.  Dean felt _useless._   He had a Dom, but a Dom who wouldn’t make him sub.  He couldn’t understand it.  What made it all _worse_ was how much he _enjoyed_ the kindness Castiel put into their dates.  His soft words and sly smile.  All of it just left Dean _hungry_ for a guy who didn’t even want to touch him.

     He dropped his pencil and rubbed his eyes, leaning back, his chair creaking under the pressure.  They had another date tonight.  One of the odd things he’d learned about Castiel in the last two weeks was the guy _loved_ bad films.  He still didn’t care for action films, apparently, but he enjoyed a terrible movie now and again.  Castiel had found some old drive-in theater of all places off the main highway.  It was showing _Tremors_ before they closed for the fall.  So they’d sit, maybe eat bad food, and Dean would go home alone.  Again.

     He shoved out of his chair, pacing, his movements tight and stiff.  He just wanted Castiel to use him.  So that Dean didn’t feel like he’d failed.  He wondered if it would be bad of him as a sub to just go down on Castiel at the drive in.  Maybe he just needed to cross the line?  So far, his attempts at just that hadn’t earned him any punishment.  He’d pushed, like their first date, and other than a correcting word or two, Castiel never reacted.  Never put him in his place.  Maybe Dean just hadn’t found his hot button yet?  Hadn’t found a way to break the man’s concrete patience?

     Dean shivered at the idea, scratching at his wrists.  It might be a way to go but Dean wasn’t all that keen on it.  No, a sub was supposed to take direction.  He wasn’t supposed to initiate _anything._   He just didn’t know how to do what Castiel wanted.  When he’d bothered to ask, Castiel would give him that weird, sad smile and murmur something about how Dean was doing what Castiel wanted him to.

     He hissed and looked at his wrists.  The skin had begun stinging horribly the last few days.  Not hard to see why.  His constant scratching had scraped the top layer of skin, leaving red welts about two inches long.  They were darker and longer on his right wrist.  Not as bad on his left.  He sighed and tugged on his flannel, dropping the sleeves down.  Just another goddamn fuckup.

     Dean looked at the clock over the door and sighed again.  Only two in the afternoon.  Probably too early to leave.  They weren’t meeting until six.  Still, he wandered back and forth, mouth tight and hands clenching and unclenching relentlessly.

     Before he could make any kind of decision, however, his door creaked open. 

     “Hey, _Dean,_ ” Charlie cooed.

     Charlie worked part-time and also handled the website for the shop and any ridiculous technological advertisements she could force on he and Bobby.  She was younger than Dean and thankfully, smarter.  Also the only woman he didn’t feel the need to flirt with.

     He squinted at her greeting, though.  And the fact that she seemed to be grinning like a Cheshire cat.  “Hey . . . Charlie.”

     Charlie slipped into the room and shut the door, still grinning.  “So.  I have this friend.  He waits tables at this cute little bistro downtown.”

     Dean felt his stomach drop.  He and Castiel had eaten at such a place last night.  But it wasn’t likely that any of Charlie’s friends knew who Dean was.  Right?  He played stupid, though, shrugging.  “And?  Why do I care?”

     “Oh, please; don’t be all coy.”  She crossed the room and planted her ass on Dean’s desk.  “So.  Who’s the new guy?”

     A few people knew that Dean was bi.  Sam, Bobby, and of course, Charlie.  But Dean never had been explicit about it.  He’d thankfully flown under the radar of the more close-minded folk in their town but didn’t mean he wanted his relationship – whatever it was – with Castiel pumped all over the place.  He rubbed his forehead and started pacing again.  “Charlie, he’s . . . just a guy,” he lied.

     “Pffft.  Liar.”  She settled more on his desk, kicking her legs out.  “How’d you meet him?”

     “Sex addiction clinic,” he retorted, not looking at her.

     “Oh, my God; you are such a _baby._ ”  Charlie was grinning though, when Dean glared at her.  “Quit getting your panties all knotted up; besides, it was Kevin who saw you.”

     “Kevin doesn’t work there!” he yelped.  He would have steered clear of the place had he known that!  Probably meant Sam knew about Castiel, too.  Surprised he hadn’t heard from his nosy brother yet, given that new information.

     “He does now.  Last night was his first night on.  I guess his rent went up this month.”  Charlie shrugged.  Her face softened.  “Why would you hide him?”

     _Because if I explained any of this you all would see how fucked up I am._   “It’s . . . complicated,” he said finally.  It wasn’t as if he and Castiel were permanent.  He was just a fixer-upper for the guy.  After Dean was properly retrained, Castiel would be gone and Dean could find a Dom who’d make him . . . useful.  Or something.  Though, the idea of Castiel being gone left a sour churn in his stomach.

     “Complicated.  Like . . . he’s hiding?”

     “No, he’s . . . out.  Kind of like me.”  Dean stopped moving and folded his arms over his chest.  “He’s not . . . I mean, we’re not really a _thing._ ”  He could see Charlie didn’t believe him so he hurried on.  “Cas is helping me with some personal stuff, is all.  He’s, uh, just a friend.”

     Charlie had that look on her face that screamed _you asshole_ but she refrained from pouncing for once.  Instead, she slipped off Dean’s desk and hopped to his side, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.  “If it’s any consolation, Kevin thought your _Cas_ was pretty stuck on you.”

     “Huh?”  Dean felt his cheeks warm.

      She smiled as she crossed back to the door.  “Yup!  Said he had this goofy look on his face when you skipped off to the bathroom at one point.  Just thought you’d like to know.”  What wagged her fingers at him.  “Gotta get back to work, boss-man.  See ya!”

     In the brief second following Charlie’s departure, Dean entertained the idea that Castiel actually saw something in him.  He knew Kevin since he always worked at Sam’s law firm.  The kid didn’t know how to lie.  But the idea that _Castiel_ saw Dean as anything other than a project? 

     He shook his head and headed out of his office after Charlie.  What a dumb idea.  Castiel was . . . gorgeous, smart, educated, and refined.  The last thing he’d want was Dean tagging around him the rest of his life.  No, he was a project.  Castiel was just a nice guy and doing Dean a favor.  There wasn’t anything else there. 

     Dean buried himself in work the rest of the afternoon, hoping to stave off the worst of such thoughts.

 

~~*~~

 

     Dean was a bit less stressed but no less despondent by the time he met Castiel for their date.  Charlie’s talk about Castiel being _stuck_ on Dean burned more than he’d expected.  Dean certainly hadn’t been this attached to either Azazel or Michael so it _was_ a bit strange that he’d latched onto Castiel so fast.  Maybe it was simply because they hadn’t fucked yet.  Once that happened, things would _have_ to click into place and he’d be on the path to normal. 

     He tucked the idea away, however, when he picked up the man at his home, a pleasant two bedroom in the suburbs.  Castiel sat with a sigh, leaning back in the passenger seat.  “Ah.  I’m grateful it’s a Friday.  I’ve decided to cease working weekends if I can help it.”  He rolled his neck, smiling warmly at Dean.  “How was your day?”

     Dean shrugged as he drove away from the house, the rumble of the Impala filling the car for a few blocks.  “Not too bad.  Wasn’t very busy.”  This had become another aspect of Castiel he didn’t understand.  His love of small talk.  Dean’s day wasn’t important.  He was here for Castiel; that was really all the guy should have cared about.

     Castiel did his usual weird hum when he was thinking and sure enough, when Dean glanced over, the guy was squinting at him.

     “What?”

     “Dean, if you’re uncomfortable with my asking such things, you merely need to say so.”  He sat up, leaning against the door of the car.  “We can talk or we can not talk; I’m fine with either.”

     The desire to scratch his wrists burned and Dean rubbed his thumbs harshly into the steering wheel.  “It’s . . . weird, okay?”  He squirmed in his seat, well aware that Castiel was watching him closely.  “I don’t know why you even care,” he admitted.

     “I see,” Castiel murmured.  He shifted again.  “Dean, I like you.  A great deal.”  He continued, drumming his fingers along the edge of the door.  “As such, I’m interested _in you._   This isn’t simply me being perfunctory.  I _want_ to know how you are.  How your day’s been.”  Castiel’s hand touched Dean’s shoulder briefly, the heat almost searing through Dean’s jacket.  “If you’d rather I didn’t, I will stop.”

     “No!” Dean blurted.  He reddened, glancing at Castiel repeatedly as he headed for the drive-in.  Jesus Christ.  The things coming out of Dean’s mouth.  Fuck, it just twisted and twisted until it was too sharp to rein in.  He swallowed rapidly, trying to calm his racing heart.  “Michael . . . didn’t care.  Neither did Azazel,” he added.  The steering wheel squeaked under his hands as he gripped it.  “You’re . . . you’re just supposed to want to fuck me, Cas.  Not talk to me.”

     “Incorrect,” Castiel intoned.  “ _Never_ are you a tool to me, Dean.”

     Somewhat startled by the chill in Castiel’s voice, Dean trembled as he pulled into the drive-in’s parking lot, paying for their ticket, offering up a sour, false smile to the cashier.  Still quiet in the car, Dean pulled to the last row, tucking the Impala in at the very end.  He let his hands drop off the wheel into his lap, his eyes fixed on the blank screen up ahead.  “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

     “Do not apologize for their . . . abuse,” Castiel remarked.  His hand was cool and soft on Dean’s chin as he coaxed Dean to look his way.  He offered up that same sad smile he’d been seeing over the last two weeks.  “Do you understand how badly I want you?  To see you naked?  To touch you?”

     Voice thick, Dean asked, “Then why won’t you?”  _It’s the only thing I’m good for_ , his feverish mind supplied.

     “Because you seem to think – _still_ – that _that_ is all I want you for.”  He frowned slightly.  “Dean, a Dom supplies their sub with what they _need._   And right now, you _need_ time.”

      Dean pulled away from Castiel’s hand, turning to roll down the window and yank at the speaker box, pulling it into the car.  Fiddling with it and the window, he mumbled, “I keep telling you that I don’t.  I’m fine with it.”  The frustration he’d been feeling erupted and he turned suddenly, glaring at Castiel.  “I’m not made of fucking glass.”

     Castiel arched an eyebrow at the outburst.  “Clearly,” he retorted.

     Dean slumped in his seat, cover his face with this hands.  “Fucking Christ,” he muttered.  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said.

     “Dean, if I wanted, I could fuck you.  Right now.  In this car.”  Castiel was canted a bit, his back wedged against the door and the car seat.  “I would make you sob and scream.”  He waved a hand.  “In public.  Fully nude.  Anyone would see you.”

     Now they were getting somewhere.  Though, it wouldn’t progress farther than words given Castiel’s track record.  “But you won’t,” he sneered, “because you seem to think I’m broken.”

      Castiel’s jaw tightened noticeably, his blue eyes hot.  He took a heavy breath, letting it out through his nose before he responded.  “My God.  I would sever the _balls_ of these men who touched you.”  He licked his lips.  “You are far from broken, Dean.  Wounded?  Yes.  Broken?  No.”  He smirked.  “If you were broken, you would not fight me so much.”

     “That’s the other thing!” Dean pointed out, throwing up his hands.  “Why the _fuck_ are you happy with a sub who talks back?  Jesus.  Every Dom I know –“ he stopped, staring ahead.  Every Dom he knew was literally Michael and Azazel.  Prior to that, he’d gone on word-of-mouth or did shitty research on what a Dom was.  He’d never met a man like Castiel.  He’d met Azazel instead.  And then Michael.  Two men who did what they wanted with him.  Used him how they wanted.  Struck him if he dared to question them.  And cast him aside when he’d become useless.  When he was no longer _their_ idea of a sub. 

     “Shit,” he breathed, his voice breaking.  “ _Goddammit._   I can’t even pick a Dom right.”

     “Shhh,” Castiel cooed, his fingertips stroking Dean’s cheek.  He leaned over and kissed Dean’s jaw.  “It’s all right, Dean.”  His voice remained low and even.  “They will _never_ harm you again.  I promise you that.”  Another kiss.  “I’m going to go grab us some food.  Will you be all right?  Would you like to come with me?”

     It almost sounded as though Castiel spoke to a child but for the first time, Dean took some comfort from it.  He smiled weakly and shook his head.  “Naw.  I’m . . . I’m good.  I swear.”  He reached for his billfold but halted when Castiel clucked his tongue. 

     “I am taking care of this.”  He quirked an eyebrow.  “I’ll be back in a few.”  He slipped out of the car, the Impala rocking when he slammed it shut.

     Fiddling again with the speaker box, Dean tried to process what he’d realized.  It wasn’t like he didn’t _know_ on some level that Azazel and Michael weren’t always on the up-and-up.  Sure, now and again, they gave him what he wanted.  Pinned him down.  Fucked him hard.  Or made him scream as he came.  But there were equal, if not more times, where they took sex when _they_ wanted.  Left him aching.  Ignored him.  Punished him for the slightest transgression.  They rarely warned him what would set them off.  It had become a field of landmines in record time for Dean. 

     That was what a sub was for though, right?  Use.  He was supposed to be _used._   He was there for a Dom’s pleasure.  But his head kept returning to Castiel’s insistence of the opposite.  Of how much he pushed Dean to _wait._   He wondered if it would be bad form of him to contact Samandriel in New York.  It was a unique enough name; wouldn’t be hard to find.  Maybe Castiel’s time between subs had been too great.  Maybe he’d forgotten what a Dom was supposed to do.

     He was still toying with the box in his hands, his mind running over old memories when Castiel returned.  He handed over a soda and hot dog to Dean and sat with a grunt, his own dinner held awkwardly in his hands.

     Dean smirked.  “Need some help there?”

     Castiel eyed him and took a huge bite of his hot dog, muttering, “Quiet, you.” 

     They ate quietly, Castiel filling Dean in on his day.  How he’d had to turn a bachelorette party away for being rude and raucous.  How, matter-of-factly, he remarked on losing a shipment of dolphin-shaped dildos.  Through it all, Dean felt his stress melting, his unease and hair-trigger mental state finally fading into something manageable.

     He crumbled up his hot dog wrapper and Castiel’s, stuffing them both in the paper tray Castiel had used to carry their food over.  The lights around the drive-in dimmed and the speaker box popped as the trailers began.  “Uh, how’d you find this place, anyway?” Dean asked.  He cinched up the window until it barely pinched the wire of the speaker, tucking himself into his coat and flannel as he did.

     When Castiel didn’t answer, he looked over, finding the man staring at Dean’s hands.  “Cas?” he nudged.

     Castiel held out his hand.  “May I?”

     “Uh?”

     “Dean.  May I see your hand?  Please?”

     Confused, Dean held out his right hand.  As soon as Castiel shoved at the layers around his wrist, all the dread that had been waning surged to the surface.  Standing out, even in the dim light, were the lines of red he’d etched into his skin over the last few days.

     “Oh, Dean,” he breathed.

     Dean knew he could pull out of Castiel’s grip easily but he refrained, looking away, ashamed.  “Sorry.”

     “What?”  Castiel moved his fingers along the marks on Dean’s wrist, touch gentle and warm.  “Why on Earth would you apologize to me?”  His fingertips were light and smooth, stroking the abraded skin slowly.  “Is this why you triggered with those cuffs?”

     Dean refused to look at Castiel, focusing blindly on the trailers blaring in front of them.  “I guess,” he managed.  He shrugged.  “It’s just . . . a weird habit, I guess.  From Michael.  I . . . pissed him off one day.  He put cuffs on me.  They might have been too tight.  And, uh, he left them on for two days.  Over a weekend.” He cleared his throat nervously. "He . . . uh . . . would do it a lot, actually."

     Castiel’s fingers slowed.  “Did he now?” he asked, his voice toneless.  Dean tensed waiting for the agreement and was started when he felt plush, wet lips on his skin.  His head snapped around and he stared, confused, as Castiel mouthed the marks gently, kissing them softly.

     “Wh-what are you--?”

     Castiel’s lips skirted Dean’s skin as he stated, “Watch the movie, pet.”

     Torn between following the command and demanding an answer, he swallowed and turned, facing the screen as Castiel massaged and caressed his skin.  He held himself stiffly, waiting for his cock to wake up and destroy everything.  Touch.  He was finally receiving touch from his Dom which would be the perfect time for his body to betray him.  Other than a stir or two, however, his dick remained blissfully quiet.

     He tried to focus on the flashing images above him.  Tried not to look at Castiel.  His nerves were tight as a violin’s strings.  So much so that he jumped when Castiel chuckled.

     “Oh, pet.”  He patted Dean’s wrist.  “Do you wish me to stop?”

     Dean looked at him then, his eyes wide.  If he said so, Castiel would stop.  He knew that now.  “N-no, sir,” he murmured.  He recognized arousal and triumph in Castiel’s eyes.  He watched, stunned, as Castiel kept his gaze even with Dean’s, plush lips falling once more to his scars. 

     “When one is wounded,” Castiel murmured, the tip of his tongue dragging slow against the longest of the marks, “it is often best to replace the fear and injury with . . . a more pleasant experience.”  He tugged on Dean’s arm, drawing him closer. 

     In a near trance, Dean scooted over, hip to hip now with Castiel.  He still hadn’t torn his eyes from Castiel’s.  Swimming in pleasure, even from so brief a touch, Dean grunted and blinked when Castiel tapped his nose.

     “Movie, pet.”

     He nodded dumbly then and finally tore his eyes away, staring up at the screen as an 80s Kevin Bacon marched into view.  Castiel’s thumbs moved warm and sure against his skin, occasionally, the soft wetness of his lips following.  With each movement, Dean felt his stress lift and fade.  He sank into it, leaning heavily against Castiel.  Other than chuckle, Castiel didn’t remark or react, his fingers never faltering.

     Half-asleep, Dean marveled at Castiel’s actions.  There was nothing inherently sexual about what he did.  He didn’t suck on Dean’s fingers lewdly.  Didn’t force Dean’s hand against his dick.  He did nothing but massage skin gently.  Sweet caresses.  Genuine affection.  The concern and care Castiel always showed him, now all the more visceral. 

     It scared him how much he liked it.  How he could get lost in such touch.  It was almost better than being pinned and fucked.  Of having his control taken away.  Which had to be wrong.  How could he like _this_ over a Dom using him?  Which only shifted his mind back to how little Azazel and Michael had touched him like this.  Comfort wasn’t something they had ever given him.  After Michael had punished him with the cuffs, he’d said nothing.  No apology.  No explanation.  He’d merely uncuffed Dean and then fucked him until he was too sore to move.

     God, what he would have _given_ to have Michael touch him like this.  To have _anyone_ pay this kind of attention to him.  He sighed when Castiel lifted his left arm, wrapping it around Dean’s shoulders, his right thumb still gently rubbing Dean’s wrist. 

     Dean hadn’t even noticed he’d drifted off until he heard Castiel chuckle and whisper, “Pet.  Wake up.  You’ve missed the movie.”

     It took a few seconds for Castiel’s words to sink in.  When they did, Dean bolted upright, apology on his lips when he caught Castiel’s warm smile.  He relaxed, glancing down to find his wrist still cradled in Castiel’s hands. 

     “Did you like the movie?” Castiel asked. 

      Realizing he meant more than the celluloid, Dean nodded.  “Uh, yeah.  It was . . . different.”  He looked up then, finding brilliant blue. 

     “Good different, or bad different?” Castiel prodded.

     “G-good different,” Dean admitted, licking his lips.  He felt a jolt in his chest when Castiel’s dark eyes followed the path of his tongue.  “Would . . . would it be bad if . . . I wanted to do that again?  Sometime?”

     Castiel’s grin broadened as he patted Dean’s wrist.  “I hoped that you would want to, Dean.”  He laced his fingers with Dean’s, squeezing his hand.  “For now, though; home?”

     As Dean withdrew his hand from Castiel’s, it felt naked and cold.  He started the car and drove with one hand on the steering wheel, his right hand on the seat between them, Castiel’s pinky finger twined with his own. 

     At Castiel’s home, the man paused before exiting the car, turning to Dean and kissing him fully on the mouth.   “You are exceptional, pet,” he murmured.  He stroked Dean’s jaw and kissed him again.  “And delightful as always.”  He said nothing else and turned to go, offering Dean a brief wave before he slipped into his house.

     And for the first time in two weeks, Dean fell asleep immediately, drifting in comforting darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some awkwardness in one spot so . . . I hope this is an okay addition. :/
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://www.dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	6. Chapter 6

      Things changed very little in the two weeks following the drive-in.  Well, not _entirely_ true.  Tiny things altered.  Dean still hadn’t slept with Castiel.  That, clearly, wouldn’t happen any time soon though Dean’s anxiety flared more often at the continued celibacy.  Thankfully, on the dates themselves, Dean ended up far calmer than he’d been in a long while.  Which only left him flustered when he thought back on his personal history with men and women.

     Shortly after leaving Michael behind, what few dates Dean had gone on had been little more than anonymous sex.  Straight up fuck-and-run.  No subbing involved.  Just physical pleasure.  Not that he enjoyed it overmuch.  Perfunctory, really.  Even now, he wasn’t all that certain what it was he was chasing after with Castiel.

     Everyone expected sex in a relationship.  Fact of life, and all that.  So why did Castiel keep avoiding it?  That part Dean couldn’t get his head around.  His assurances that it was for Dean’s benefit only confused him more.  Granted, they weren’t a _real_ couple.  Just . . . a very helpful Dom and a messed up sub.  So, really, sex should have started up a hell of a lot faster than it had.  And he _tried_ to be cognizant of Castiel’s words but it remained difficult.  Try as he might, the idea of sex never drifted far from Dean’s thoughts.  Just another sign of how messed up he was.

     On Friday morning, after yet another round of internalized questions with no answers, Dean received a call from Castiel, bright and early.

     “Hey, Cas,” he murmured, unsure of what this could mean.  They hadn’t yet made arrangements for another date and really, when they did, Castiel usually waited until the afternoon to call.  Never first thing in the morning.  Dean felt his gut clench at the implications, his palms beginning to sweat.

     “ _Morning, Dean,_ ” he mused.  “ _Do you have plans yet this evening?_ ”

      A bit of his unease faded, a small smile tugging at his lips.  He thought for sure the constant formality would be boring or irritating.  But Castiel’s technical way of speaking had grown on Dean.  Settling back into his chair, he answered, “Uh, no.  Not right as yet.” 

     “ _Perfect.  I would love for you to be at my home tonight.  I’d like to make you dinner._ ”

     Dean frowned.  Another date?  Really?  Then why the change in protocol?  He shifted nervously, his feet tapping on the one patch of hardwood floor in his office.  “Uh, yeah.  No problem.”  Seemed to be a weird request.  But then again, this was Castiel.  He did things so unconventionally, yet, a strange sense of comfort and familiarity followed everything he did.  He never did anything without motive.  And the softness of his voice did little to hide the iron under it all.

     To his relief, one thing had improved since the drive-in; Castiel touched him more.  Longer touches.  Lingering.  Something Dean was all too eager for.  The other night, it had been all he could do to not chase after Castiel when the man had pulled away and headed into his home.  He’d wanted so much more.  Wanted Castiel to push him to the ground.  Bite his lip.  Use him.  Do _something._

     Castiel’s warm chuckle caught him off-guard.  _“I swear, I can see the gears turning in your head right now._ ”  A static burst of breath over the phone.  “ _You are welcome to decline, Dean.  There is no pressure.  Though, I would enjoy your company immensely.  As always._ ”

     He smiled a bit more at that.  “It’s . . . it’s fine.  I’d . . . like it, too.”  Though, he hated himself _for_ liking it so much.  Being _content_ with just touch kept sex so far out of reach.  Castiel had mentioned he liked subs with attitude so if Dean just . . . gave up in his demands, would that mean it wouldn’t move beyond that?  They still kissed, occasionally, just not anything that would get Dean’s balls tight.  Castiel kept everything above the belt.  The man simply wouldn’t follow through. 

     And Dean . . . _liked_ that.  Which had to be fucked up.  That wasn’t what he was supposed to look forward to.  He was _supposed_ to look forward to the sex.  Clearly, he’d been broken so badly that Castiel didn’t even want to fuck him.  He tried to remind himself that Castiel didn’t want him rushing into things but it’d been over four weeks.  Wasn’t _Castiel_ getting as frustrated as Dean?

     “ _Perfect.  Come by at six tonight.  Is there anything you’re allergic to?_ ”

     Dean shook his head.  “Nah.  I’ll eat pretty much anything,” he joked lamely.

     Another chuckle.  “ _Of that, I’ve no doubt._ ”  He went silent for a moment, background sounds increasing before he returned.  “ _I will see you tonight, Dean.  If anything comes up, please don’t hesitate to call me._ ”

     A month ago, Dean might have been pissed that someone was so . . . careful with him.  Castiel always ended their conversations in some similar manner; make sure Dean knew he could call whenever.  And yes, the first time it’d happened, Dean had fumed over it.  He wasn’t a goddamn china doll.  He could function fine.  Castiel’s only focus should have been making sure that Dean took command and didn’t freak out over sex.

     Even so, Dean felt his gut warm and his dick lift when those soft words came over the line.  The idea that, even though it wasn’t necessary but Castiel _wanted_ to say them left an impression on Dean.  After four weeks, he felt he knew Castiel fairly well.  The man was quirky but genuine.  He didn’t think Castiel did it to placate Dean.  By now, he almost believed Castiel did it because he _meant_ it.

    Other than his brother, Bobby and his family, and Charlie, Dean didn’t often receive that kind of attention.  Not really.  Maybe negative, especially when dealing with asshole customers.  But palpable concern was new to him.  And frankly, he still didn’t know quite how to process it.  Part of him wanted to sag in relief and the rest wanted to run and demand differently.  It left him reeling if he thought on it too long.

     “S-sure,” he murmured.  “Um, have a good day.”

     “ _You as well.  Until tonight, Dean._ ”    

     He hung up with Castiel and set his phone down, sighing.  He sat forward, rubbing his forehead with both hands.  Dean didn’t enjoy being stuck in his head for so long but with Castiel, it kept happening.  He would rehash everything he said or did, looking for the thing that was preventing them from being an _actual_ Dom and sub.  It had to be something Dean was doing. 

     “Why, why, why?” he muttered.  He felt torn in two, ragged and off-center.  He tried not to let his memories shift back to either Azazel or Michael but every time Castiel had pushed him away this week, he couldn’t help but hear their voices taunting him.  Pointing out his flaws.  His weakness.  His disobedience.

     Well on his way to frustrated, he threw himself into his work, focusing on a restoration of a Model A.  The longer he spent under the car, the less time he had to worry about what he was to Castiel.  How . . . useless he was as a sub.  How fucked up the whole thing really was.  Cars were so simple to read.  If anything went wrong, there was a way to fix it.  If not, the damn thing hit the junkyard.  But people were harder.  No blueprint existed to clue a person in.  All just . . . trial and error.

     With a grunt, his forearms covered in sweat and grease, he realized the thoughts wouldn’t fade.  Not entirely.  He always had to hash out this overly-friendly Dom who just wanted to help.  He swore as he stripped a bolt, flinging the wrench away across the concrete floor.  Folding his arms over his eyes, he grit his teeth, sucking in air.  Maybe that’s what this whole issue stemmed from.  The oddity of their relationship.  Why would a Dom care if Dean was fucked in the head?  Maybe he still felt guilty over Dean’s stupid freak out that first day.

     He banged his elbow when someone knocked on the hood of the car.  Crawling out from under, he peered up at his brother.  After blinking a few more times, he remembered he’d made plans to get lunch with Sam and on cue, his stomach grumbled violently.

     Sam grinned as Dean stood up, putting his tools away.  “I stopped by at the Roadhouse and picked up lunch.  That okay?”  He snickered at Dean’s faint nod.  “Figured you’d forget.”

     Wiping his hands on a rag, Dean smiled weakly.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m hungry, bitch; feed me.”

     “Jerk,” he tossed back. 

     They returned to Dean’s office after Dean flipped the “ _Return at 1pm”_ sign.  Bobby had already left and he found a roughly scribbled note on the desk cursing at him and saying much the same.  He winced.  He’d really been stuck in his head today.  Maybe some brother bonding time would get him out of this. 

     Sam dropped a large canvas bag on Dean’s desk and pulled out a salad for himself and a steaming-hot burger with fries for Dean.  He took the seat opposite Dean’s, all smarmy grin and floppy hair.

     Dean’s hand hovered over his burger.  He frowned.  “What is it?” he grumbled.

     Sam just grinned, chewing on his salad. 

     “Goddammit,” Dean breathed, digging out his food.  He crammed a fry in his mouth and lifted his eyebrows.  “Well?  Out with it, you damn goon.”

     Snickering, Sam speared a tomato.  “So.  Little bird told me you have a fella.” 

     _Dammit, Kevin._   “And?”

     “You bringing him to the wedding so I can meet him like a normal person?”

     Oh, fuck; the wedding.  The same wedding that had prompted Dean to go into Castiel’s store.  The same wedding that was nearly six months away.  Dean felt his stomach pitch at the idea of bringing Castiel.  Not that he was ashamed of the guy but . . . weddings were for serious couples.  He and Castiel . . . that wasn’t them.  Granted, Dean wished fervently that it _could_ be them but it . . . it wasn’t.  Wouldn’t be them.  No, this was all a weird, slightly odd favor.  Dean wasn’t anything to Castiel beyond that.

     He chewed quietly and shrugged, not able to find his voice.  Four weeks later and the only thing Dean was certain of was how he _wanted_ Cas to be _his_ Dom.  The kindness in his voice latched onto Dean like a drug.  He craved it at this point.  But once Dean was fixed, he’d lose all that.  He doubted Castiel even thought of him beyond their dates, skewed as they were.

     Realizing he still hadn’t said anything, he shrugged again.  “Uh, no.  Not . . . yeah, not in the cards.”

     Sam’s humor faded.  “Why not?”

     This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with Sam.  He took a massive bite of his burger and mumbled, “We’re just friends; that’s all.”  He swallowed.  “He, uh, he’s . . . not into dudes,” he lied.  _Goddammit._

     “Oh.” 

     Dean shrugged, focusing on his burger.  “He’s just a friend, remember?  I’m not . . . anything to him.”  Even as he said it, he felt a jab of pain in his gut, like he’d suddenly betrayed Castiel.  But it was true.  Castiel might have given him the name ‘pet’ but that’s all Dean was.  They’d kissed and touched but . . . well, once Castiel fucked him, that would be it.  He’d be patted on the back and sent on his way, ready for the next man to take control.  His burger turned to ash in his mouth but he kept chewing, if only to keep his mouth occupied.

      Sam sighed, oblivious to the internal struggle.  “That’s a bummer.”  He munched a bit longer on his salad.  “You know, one of the partners is gay and single.  He’s a pretty decent guy.  I could maybe –“

      Dean glared at him.  “Don’t.”

     “C’mon, Dean.  You haven’t been the same since Michael.  You just . . . you’re kind of disappearing on me,” he muttered.

     Fighting the shiver at his old Dom’s name, Dean took another huge bite of his burger, hunched over his desk.  Michael had been all charm and sweetness whenever around Sam.  Nothing like the bastard Dean had come to know.  But, at least he’d been in a relationship.  That was what mattered, right?  He was getting fucked regularly and someone could put up with his bullshit on a day-to-day basis.

     Now?  Fuck, who knew what he was now.  If Castiel even saw a second of his actual life, he’d laugh in his face.  Call this entire escapade clean off.  The dates were jokes.  And Dean was slowly growing addicted to their softness.  Not a good thing.  Not by a long shot. 

     “Am not,” he finally replied.  He wiped his mouth on a napkin and grabbed a fry, gesturing with it.  “People can be single, you know?”

     Sam rolled his eyes.  “No shit, idiot.”  He leaned forward, placing his salad on the desk.  “That’s not my point.  Look, I’m _glad_ you’re away from Michael.  You’re –“

     “Wait.  What?”

      His younger brother took a heavy breath.  “Look, I didn’t want to say anything when you were with him because I _thought_ you were happy but . . . I never liked him.  He was . . . I don’t know; skeevy?”  He grabbed one of Dean’s fries and shoved it into his mouth.  “Toward the end of that relationship, Dean, you were a mess.”

     Lunch forgotten, Dean stared at his brother.  There could be _no way_ Sam had known anything was wrong.  Wasn’t _supposed_ to know.  That was to have stayed locked up in the bedroom.  Away from the people who would see him for a fucked up freak.  His heart thundered in his chest and his stomach twisted, sour and heavy with forgotten food.

     Sam still carried his concerned look.  “Before you broke up with him, I was going to ask you if . . . well, if he’d done anything to you.  You’d always go so quiet when he was around.  It wasn’t like you.”  He sat back.  “Like I said, I’m glad you’re away from him but you still don’t seem . . . happy.  I just . . . I want you to be happy, Dean.”

     Rubbing his face to hide the tremor in his fingers, Dean sighed.  “Goddammit, Sam,” he muttered.  “I’m fine, all right?  Seriously.  I’m fine.”  Sam had other things to worry about.  Not his idiot brother.  He had a wedding to take care of, a wife-to-be, probably children.  A success through and through.  No reason to get distracted by his brother’s dumb decisions.

     Sam stabbed at his salad.  “Yeah.  Fine.  You’re going to say that shit to me and stew about some dumb thing or another instead of talking to me.”  He shook his head, glaring as he crunched a crouton.  “One of these days, Dean, you need to let someone in.  Stop shoving us all away.”

     “All right, Dr. Phil,” he snapped, angrily returning to his burger.  He didn’t like this conversation.  It needed to _stop_ right now.  Before he threw something.  Or said something.

     “I mean, that’s just it!” Sam gestured with his fork in exasperation.  “You make jokes.  You sit there and think, ‘ _I don’t deserve that so I’ll take what I can get,_ ’ and then you just . . . you let . . .” Sam gave up, sagging in his seat.  “Dean, you deserve good things, okay?”  He laughed humorlessly.  “I mean, look at how much you’re doing for Jess and I.  It’s not cheap!  Paying for our honeymoon?  The reception hall?  Dean, selfish people don’t do that.”

     Pointedly staring at his fries, Dean shoved the last of his burger into his mouth.  When he realized Sam hadn’t moved, he swallowed the lump and finally faced his brother.  Goddamn puppy-dog face.  Shit, he hated that. 

     “What do you want from me?” he rasped, giving up.

      Sam took a shaky breath.  “I want you to have good things, Dean.  I want you to be happy.  If you’re happy single, that’s fine.  But if someone _makes_ you happy, I want you to have that.”  He smiled.  “When Kevin told me about your date, I thought maybe this was a new guy since you hadn’t told me yet.  Guess I was wrong,” he admitted.  He finished off his salad.  “It’s okay for you to want things, Dean.”

     Fidgeting, Dean crumpled up his burger wrapper.  Okay to want things?  Naw, the things he wanted he couldn’t have.  What he _wanted_ was a man who wouldn’t fuck him.  A man who would walk away sooner rather than later.  And even knowing that, he couldn’t stop the desire and want that coursed through him whenever he laid eyes on Castiel. 

     Tossing his wrapper in the bin near his desk, he grunted and rolled his eyes.  “Can we quit now?  You’ve spilled your feelings, Samantha; let’s move on.”

     His brother opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut quickly.  Looking defeated, he nodded.  “Yeah, fine.  Okay.  I’m still putting you down for plus one, though.  So find a plus one, dammit,” he added with a grin. 

     Relieved that he could be rid of this subject, Dean waved away the comment and steered their conversation to the wedding itself.  Once Sam was on that subject, he seemed to have forgotten his heart-felt plea to Dean. 

     In a way, he understood why Sam was so preoccupied with it.  He’d found someone so like most goofy-eyed lovebirds, he wanted others to have the same.  It just wouldn’t be in the cards for Dean.  He could find pleasure if he was lucky but love?  The kind that Sam and Jess had?  Yeah, not likely.

     After walking his brother to the front door and making arrangements to meet up for dinner with Jess on Sunday, Dean headed back to his office, still too unsettled to return to work.  He paced, his hands still twitching.  He deserved good things, huh?  What a joke.  If he deserved such things he wouldn’t be so fucked up right now.  He’d be normal.  In a normal relationship.  With normal problems.  Instead of this twisted need to get fucked by a man who _claimed_ he wanted to but simply wouldn’t.

     His phone was in his hand before he could register it and Castiel’s voice came over the line.

     “ _Good afternoon, Dean._ ”

      Ignoring the clear warmth in the man’s voice, Dean blurted, “Why don’t you want me?”  Dean continued pacing, nearly stomping along the threadbare carpet of his office.  “I’m ready for sex, I swear it.  You can . . . whatever.  You can do whatever you want to me.  I’ll take it; I swear.”  He swallowed, his breath coming faster.  “I’ll sign any contract.  Please.  Just . . . I’m,” his voice broke off as his mind finished the thought _I’m a good sub; I promise._

     “ _Oh, Dean,_ ” Castiel breathed.  “ _Don’t you see?  You_ aren’t _ready for that.  I wish I could make you understand._ ”  He paused and began again.  “ _I think this is my fault.  I was so eager to touch you since the drive-in that . . . I may have become a bit too . . . physical with you.”_

     Dean shook his head violently, hand clenching and unclenching as he moved.  “No, no!  It isn’t you!  I know it’s me!  But I swear, I’m good.  I promise.  I’ll do whatever you want.”  Dean’s head spun and he felt seconds from hyperventilating.  But he had to push this.  He had to find out why it was Castiel simply wouldn’t fuck him.  Use him like he was supposed to be used.

     Warning signals screamed in his head that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t do this, but Dean’s stubborn nature got the better of him.  Why listen to the voice that said this was good?  That slow was _good?_   Dean wasn’t doing his job; so how could it be good?  How could it be good to simply have a man like Castiel stroke his wrist?  To touch his hand?  It wasn’t right for him to want that above sex.  He stumbled in his pacing, grabbing the edge of his desk in his panic. 

     It wasn’t supposed to be about him; not like this.  He didn’t matter.

     “ _Dean, there is so much more to being a sub than sex.  Those . . . men . . . should have taught you that.”_ Dean could hear his chair creak over the line.  “ _I want to sleep with you; I do.  Damn me, but I want to so badly.  But that would be harming you._ ” 

     “I just . . .” he felt his legs buckle and he slid down to the floor, like he had in Castiel’s store that day.  The reminder burned in his chest.  “I just want to be useful to you,” he admitted.

     He heard Castiel mumble something before his voice returned, calm and quiet as always.  “ _Dean, that implies I see you as a tool.  A . . ._ thing.”  Dean could almost see the blue eyes now.  “ _You are so far from that to me,”_ he breathed.  He fell silent and then sighed.  “ _I have wanted to say something about this but . . . I admit, I wasn’t certain if I should.”_   Castiel cleared his throat but when he spoke again, there remained a tremor of nervousness, which startled Dean out of his melancholy.  “ _Dean.  Our relationship is . . . unorthodox.  I’ve known many Doms who have taken on subs to ease them beyond past traumas.  That_ was _what I’d intended with you._ ”

      Dean’s lunch shifted in his stomach and he was _sure_ he was about to vomit.  Because here it was.  The great send off.  The ‘ _fuck you, you’re useless_ ,’ kick to the curb.  He shook violently, trying desperately not to gulp air as he pressed his head to the desk, tears burning in his eyes.  Why?  Why did he keep fucking up?  He’d even managed this one without being naked once.  That had to be a record.

     He felt a rueful smile tug on his lips at Castiel’s familiar humming.  He’d miss that.  He’d miss that a lot, actually.  And the smiles.  The laughs.  The man himself.  He’d never met a man like Castiel.  Probably never would again.  So, naturally, he’d shit on the whole thing by being _Dean Winchester._   If he could just start it all over.  Just . . . not be _him._

     “ _Understand that I had intended to keep it that way.  But . . . what you and I have at the moment, it is the most important thing in my life right now.  I told you that I would help you and I mean that, truly.  But . . . I . . . would like . . . more with you.  Much more._ ”

     It took a moment for the words to sink in.  At first, Dean thought he’d misheard.  Or read what he’d wanted into the brush off.  But they sped through his head again, all quiet sincerity.  Dean stared at the wall opposite, stunned.  He opened his mouth twice, trying to form some question or comment but words failed him.  Castiel . . . wanted him? 

     Castiel chuckled weakly, _“Dean, please say something._ ”

     Unable to think of anything, Dean whispered a cracked, “Really?” over the phone.

     “ _That you would want the same from me would . . . be wonderful, Dean._ ”  He fell silent for a few beats before continuing.  “ _Initially, I thought this to be merely an attempt to help you.  Hiel was an abused sub as well; I felt it would be similar to what I had experienced with her.  And I was more than willing to do that as no Dom should have ever driven you to the point you are at now._ ”  An audible swallow.  _“I miscalculated how charming you are, Dean.  How sincerely vibrant.  You are a very welcome presence in my life and I . . . would like to keep that._ ”

     Confused, Dean muttered, “How can you want to keep me around?  You haven’t even slept with me.”

     Castiel sighed heavily.  “ _To imply your only worth is in your sex is a detriment to the man you are, Dean.  I keep trying to explain that to you but you seem hellbent on defying me._ ”  A faint, though affectionate snort accompanied the words.  “ _Even if I never sleep with you, Dean, I . . . desire_ you. _”_

His tremors eased and he found his breathing had steadied.  But he felt lightheaded still.  Barely grounded.  As though a slight wind would snap his nerves.  “I’m not . . . I have nothing to offer you,” he said, startling himself.

     “ _Oh, pet,_ ” Castiel cooed.  “ _How wrong you are.  You yourself is all I desire.  Let me show you that.  Please?  Let me prove to you that_ you _are what is most important._ ”  A pause.  “ _If you don’t wish this, however, I will walk away.  I will leave you, if it’s what you wish._ ”

     Dean swallowed.  “So . . . if I say no, this is over?”

     _“Yes.  If you wish this to stop now, I will walk away.  You are not forced into this, pet.  Forgive me; Dean.  This is your choice._ ”  His voice softened.  “ _It’s always been your choice._ ”

     So.  _He_ could end it right now.  Put a stop to the confusion and back and forth.  The frustration.  He could walk away and maybe slip back into the BDSM world.  Find a new Dom.  Or a Domme.  He’d not gone that route yet.  He could find someone who’d use him and maybe humiliate him like Michael had.  The way he’d earned.  The way he'd always deserved.  So easily done.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t given others the brush off since Michael.  He'd been approached twice before but he'd shied away, knowing what a disaster he was.  Be just like old times.  All he had to do was say the word and it’d be all over and he’d be back to where he’d started.  He’d say goodbye to the man with the gorgeous eyes and beautiful voice.  To the soft touches.  The gentle words.  The way his stomach flipped pleasantly when Castiel squinted at him.  The smell of his cologne. 

     Dean shut his eyes and licked his lips.  Words were easy.  He could say these words.  Even though it terrified him to do so, his voice rough and shaky, he managed, “Stay with me?”

     There was a puff of relieved laughter before that sinful voice returned.  “ _As long as you will have me._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope this chapter sits well with everyone. Remember, their relationship is a slow burn and will move not nearly as quickly as some would like, I'm sure. I do promise sex, however. Just....not right yet. :3
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

     Castiel refused to get off the phone with Dean for nearly an hour.  By the time they’d finished talking, Dean had a firmer idea of where they stood but some questions still lingered.  He agreed to dinner a second time, promising to show up at six like he’d stated earlier that day.  And even though the rest of his afternoon remained uneventful, those questions simmered in the back of his head.

     So, Castiel wanted him?  Honestly wanted _him?_ But did he really?  Dean could still recall how Castiel would limit their physical interactions.  A part of him was beginning to understand the ‘no sex’ rule but even then, it didn’t explain the rare kisses or just the brush of a hand.  As though Castiel himself didn’t want to cross any boundaries.  The claims of his desire for Dean felt superlative, given that.

     Dean needed so much more.  He needed hands on his skin.  That connection that only came from intimacy and the physical.  It didn’t need to be sex; not yet, anyway.  But without that touch, he drifted feeling lost in this so-called relationship.  He felt empty without it.  Bereft.  For all the man’s assurances of _talking_ better than anything, he worried how the man would take it.  Or if Castiel would brush it off as the abuse he’d suffered under Michael and Alistair.

     By the end of the day, whatever answer he’d been looking for couldn’t be found under the hood of a car so he’d made the tense drive to Castiel’s with the music up too loud and the window down.  By the time he’d made it to the man’s home, he was shivering cold and probably deaf in one ear.  So much for calm.

     He parked the Impala on the street and stared at the cheerily lit home.  It would be foolish for him to grow attached to this place, even with Castiel’s comments.  Because, as soon as Dean demanded more, Castiel would likely cut ties.  He’d see Dean as a lost cause.  Not worth the effort.  Not when he kept bringing up the same thing, again and again.

     “Fucking hell,” he grunted, yanking out his keys and shoving open the door.  If he was lucky, he’d be able to keep a handle on his tongue tonight.  He’d sit and eat with Castiel.  Chat.  Maybe they’d shake hands tonight.  Top it off with a salute.  No matter what he did tonight, he’d end up miserable.  Even knowing that Castiel wanted him did nothing to alter that concept.

     He trudged up the steps and knocked lightly, the door swinging open.  Castiel’s warm smile barely made a dent in his depression, though he forced an answering grin all the same.  “Good evening, Dean,” he murmured.  He stepped back, gesturing for Dean to walk inside.  “I don’t believe you’ve been in my house yet, have you?” he asked, eyebrow quirked.

     Dean shook his head.  “Naw.  I don’t think, anyway.”

     Castiel reached up and tugged on the collar of Dean’s jacket.  “Let me take your coat.  And please, leave your shoes by the door.” 

     He followed the advice and padded after Castiel, looking around him in amazement.  The house was beautiful.  Lush and inviting.  The living room had a gas-lit fire burning behind a grate.  Plush, pale carpet from wall to wall.  The hallway and kitchen were hardwood as was the dining room when Dean peeked around the corner.  Framed photographs hung from the walls and a hutch of china and glass sat at the far end of the hallway.

     “It’s nice,” he murmured, intimidated by the look of it all.  Was Castiel secretly wealthy?  He clearly did well with his shop but did it pay that much?  Maybe sex toys were a hobby. 

     He jumped when he felt fingers on his neck.  Eyes wide, he swung back around, finding Castiel’s gaze.  The other man smiled again, weaker this time, as he pulled his hand away.  “Forgive me.  You, uh, arrived at the perfect time.  Um, dinner’s ready.”

     Fuck, he really was broken.  Even that fleeting touch had left his skin crying out for more.  He swallowed hard, clenching his hands.  Right now would be the right time.  Right?  Castiel claimed he liked Dean’s forward behavior so now would be the perfect moment to confront him about all this.  But like all times before, Dean caved and looked away.  “Dammit, Cas,” he muttered.

     Confused, Castiel blinked at him.  “What is it?”

     Dean could feel his legs trembling.  Adrenaline surging.  His stomach grew tight and he wanted to throw up.  He swallowed hard, looking into those kind, blue eyes.  “You said to say when things were good _and_ bad, right?”

     Nodding, Castiel sat back.  “Of course.  If we don’t talk, we aren’t connecting.”

     “And . . . you want an _actual_ relationship; right?”  Fucking words.  They were so damn hard to spit out.  He could swear at anyone and shoot back retorts like they were nothing but here?  Here he felt like he’d only known English a short while.  Couldn’t grasp a damn thing.

     The frown returned.  “Yes.  Dean, is something wrong?”

     He took a deep draught of air and let it out in a burst.  “When you don’t touch me, I think you don’t want me,” he blurted.  His face felt cold and hot and he couldn’t meet Castiel’s eyes but he went on, staring at the floor between his socks.  “I get the sex part; I do.  I mean, I _think_ I do.  But, I _need_ you to touch me.”  When nothing came of his outburst, he looked up hesitantly, surprised to see guilt on Castiel’s face.

     “Oh,” he began.  He said nothing else, only reached out and tugged on Dean’s hand.  “Please, let’s take a moment in the living room.”  He said nothing more until they were both seated on the couch.  With a low cough, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  After a moment, he reached out, taking one of Dean’s hands.  “My apologies, Dean.  I had . . . I suppose I hadn’t thought that through very well.”  He smiled weakly.  “I clearly could do with hearing my own advice and actually _listen_ to you.”

     Wait, this wasn’t what he’d expected.  He waited with coiled tension, for Castiel to rescind the words but when the man remained silent, expectant for Dean’s response, a giddy laugh burst out.  Blushing at Castiel’s wide-eyed look, rubbed the back of his neck.  The sudden welling of relief left him trembling anew.  “Hey, you know.  You _do_ actually listen to me.  That’s better than I’d ever get before,” he admitted.

     He shut his eyes, sighing when nimble fingers dragged through his hair.  He didn’t stop his lean this time, turning his head into the touch and nearly purring at its pleasure.  The soft press of fingertips on his temple and jaw.  The lingering heat.  It was all he’d ever wanted.  God, he hoped Castiel wouldn’t stop. 

    “I promise not to deny this any longer,” Castiel murmured, his fingers strong and warm.  “Pleasure and relaxation suit you very much, Dean.”  He dropped his hand down, cupping Dean’s chin. 

     Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and felt his cock swell at the dark possession in Castiel’s gaze.  It almost frightened him how intense his pleasure was in that moment.  Castiel’s hand was nowhere near his dick and yet he felt more turned on than he had in years.  He licked his lips, shifting when those blue eyes followed the gesture.

     “Beautiful,” he breathed.  After a slight hesitation, Castiel leaned in, kissing Dean deeply, his tongue sliding in with ease as he swallowed Dean’s surprised moan.  He pulled back and smirked, his thumb pressing against Dean’s bottom lip.  “Mm.  I admit, it has been difficult to keep my hands to myself.  I thank you for your permission.”

     Dean reddened, still tasting Castiel on his lips.  “Not that big a deal,” he protested.

     “It is a _very_ big deal, Dean.”  Castiel dropped his hand.  “Consent is the basis of all Dom/sub relationships.  If I took without your permission, it’d be assault.”

     “I gave Michael and Azazel permission,” he pointed out.  Maybe.  He was beginning to wonder, in all honesty.  The longer he was around Castiel the more he realized things between he and his prior Doms were dubious at best.  Azazel had taken advantage of a young, immature kid.  Michael and just . . . taken advantage.  Though, Dean could have walked at any time.  He’d stayed.  So, maybe he liked it?  His stomach pitched at the idea and he swallowed, shoving that guilt and worry deep.

     Acknowledging the former suspicion, Castiel confirmed, “You weren’t aware what you were permitting.  Uninformed consent is still tantamount to abuse.”  He patted Dean’s leg.  “We will discuss _all_ that we plan before even a stitch of clothing is removed.”

      Dean snorted.  “More talking?”

     “Hm.  Until we are blue in the face,” Castiel retorted, though his lips quirked in amusement.  “Believe me, Dean; you’ll appreciate this.  It may seem tedious but it’s best we speak about such things before one of us does something the other isn’t comfortable with.”

     Dean chewed on his thumb, staring at the coffee table again.  Emboldened by Castiel’s willingness to listen, Dean’s mind drifted.  “So . . . if I want to do something specific, you’ll agree?”

     “Possibly.”  Castiel smirked.  “You had something in mind?”

     Dean recalled his visceral dreams of late.  Of ropes holding him in place, his cock hard and slick while Castiel stroked him slow, designed to torture.  Leave him senseless and begging.  Dean bound helpless, mind dizzy with pleasure and lust.  He shrugged, squirming as his flagging erection came to life again.  “Uh, maybe?”

     “Tell me,” Castiel cooed, rubbing the back of Dean’s neck.  “What would you like to try, my pet?”

     He shivered at the name, licking his lips.  “I, uh, well.  Maybe, that is, tie me up?  Maybe stroke me off?”  His face burned at the words and he refused to look at Castiel.  God, he sounded stupid.  Like a child begging for a toy at Christmas.  And he couldn’t dispel how strange it felt to put a voice to his wants.  Before it’d just be happenstance if his needs coincided with either Azazel or Michael.  That he’d be lucky to hit on a kink he liked when the other men were getting off on him. 

     “Ropes, hm?”  Castiel’s hand was still sure and slow on his neck, massaging gently.  “I think, I’d be delighted to grant you that.”  He dropped a warm, sweet kiss to Dean’s temple.  “When you are ready, we’ll test ropes.  I know how cuffs trigger you.”

     Dammit.  That again.  “Wa-wait, I think –“ he halted when Castiel’s hand pressed warm to his lips.  He recognized the stern disagreement already, dropping his eyes.

     “Look at me, Dean,” Castiel commanded. 

     Dean complied, finding warm, stunning blue.  Castiel kept his hand in place, his other still moving against Dean’s neck.  “I don’t wish to hurt you.  We will move slowly but it will be no less pleasurable for you, I promise.”  He took a small breath, plush lips parted.  “I want you to be _happy._   To see you pleased would bring me untold ecstasy.”  He drew his hands away, letting one drag along Dean’s neck possessively.  “I look at you and I see a man of strength and character.  Someone who remains in direct control of all around him.”  He licked his lips, eyes dark and sinful.  “To have you drop that control in my presence, to give that control _to me,”_ he breathed out, shakily.  “Well, I hope to reward you accordingly in my own . . . special way.”

     Head buzzing with lust, Dean nodded, unable to find the words.  Fuck, he wanted that, too.  He wanted to submit.  To go to his knees.  Do _whatever_ Castiel demanded.  Wanted such a stoic man to unwrap him and bare him to the world.  Leave him aching and screaming with pleasure.  And it _frightened_ him how desperate he was for that. 

     The thought ended up buried with the rest as Castiel stood and held out a hand to Dean. 

     “For now, I say we enjoy dinner, hm?”

     He took Castiel’s hand and rose, clearing his throat.  “Is . . . is it that simple?” 

     Castiel stopped in the dining room entrance, head tilted.  “Is what?”

     Toying with Castiel’s fingers, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “The whole . . . that thing,” he mumbled, unable to voice it. 

     Another kiss, soft and sweet, though darkened with a filthy flick of a tongue against his lips.  “It is _that_ simple.”  He gestured for Dean to take a seat.  “Words, Dean.  You need only tell me what you want and I will listen.”

     Dean picked up his fork and gestured with it, “I think you just like talking too much,” he joked.

     Castiel chuckled as he lifted the lid off a pot of pasta.  “Perhaps.  You seem to enjoy it as well,” he replied in return, eyes dark and sly.

     Dinner went well.  Castiel had made baked ziti and Dean though he might die from how good it tasted.  They talked about work and Dean finally brought up Sam and his upcoming wedding.  Castiel listened intently, asking questions but never made a nudge about the wedding itself.  If he thought that _he_ might accompany Dean to the event.  Dean himself wasn’t even sure.  He _wanted_ that but bringing it up seemed too much too soon.  Or his own fears surging ahead again.  He had a pretty good guess which one.

     After dinner, they took wine to the couch and Castiel turned on the evening news, sipping at his glass and commenting on the general state of the world.  Through it all, Dean fidgeted, his body still tense from all that had happened, barely touching his wine.

     “Dean, are you all right?”

     He nodded, too fast.  “Oh, yeah.  Fine.  Good.  You?”

     Castiel frowned and stood, taking Dean’s wine glass and setting both on the coffee table.  “Dean, can I try something?”

     Dean slid his hands between his legs and shrugged.  “Sure.  What?”

     The frown deepened.  “Could you remove your shirt?”

      Oh.  So they would have sex?  The constant back and forth threw Dean completely off and he froze, unable to process the request.

     Castiel covered his eyes for a moment.  “Forgive me.  I don’t mean it the way you think.”  He smiled, though clearly embarrassed.  “I would like to give you a massage.  You seem very tense.”

     “Okay.  All right.”  He stood up, fumbling with his shirt.  “Sure.  I mean, if you want.  I’m good though,” he babbled.

     Castiel touched his cheek, calming him quickly.  “I don’t intend to go beyond the massage, Dean,” he stated.  “I would like to do something for you, though.”

     Taking a deep breath, Dean finally shed his shirt and then lay carefully on the couch, face turned toward the tv.  “You don’t need to,” he pointed out as Castiel straddled him on the couch.

     “Whether I need to or not is out of the question.  I _wish_ to.”  The couch creaked as he leaned over Dean, fishing in the drawer of the end table.  He grunted when he grabbed the small bottle of lotion.

     Dean eyed it warily but tried to joke.  “You jerk off on the couch often, Cas?”

     Castiel flicked him in the back of the head.  “Some of us have dry skin, Dean.”  He snickered.  “Why do I think that is why _you_ would have lotion near your couch?”

     Blushing, Dean scowled.  “Ha, ha.”

     The man merely smiled and squirted lotion in his hand before setting his palms against Dean’s back.  The contact made him sigh, the sound shaky and nearly punched out of him.  Warm and slick, Castiel pressed the heels of his hands into Dean’s ribs, the pressure just this side of pain.  Dean’s eyes fell shut as the news droned on and he savored the repetitive motions of Castiel’s hands. 

     Heaven.  It felt like _heaven._   Castiel’s fingers and palms found every one of Dean’s knots and worked them out, leaving them buttery and hot.  Castiel asked a question now and again, something inane, and Dean could barely remember to make a noise of assent.  He drifted, focused on Castiel’s touch and the pleasant buzz it left in his flesh. 

     Castiel pressed his thumb into a particularly stubborn knot on his shoulder and Dean moaned softly, blushing at the noise.  “S-sorry,” he muttered.  He planted his face back into the couch cushion, hoping it hadn’t ruined things.

     Castiel’s voice thickened in his ear.  “If you believe I abhor that noise, you are sadly mistaken.”  He pressed his thumbs deeper into Dean’s sides, drawing out that sound again.  “Ah, see?  Beautiful.  Such lovely sounds.”  He slid a hand along Dean’s spine, fingertips dancing.  “Much like the man who makes them.”

     Mindful of Castiel’s perch on his ass, Dean tried not to squirm from the compliment.  He swallowed and turned his head, eyeing Castiel as the man continued to press his hands into Dean’s bare back.  “You do that a lot,” he mumbled.

     Blue eyes flicked to him and away, a smirk pulling at his lips.  “Do what?”

     Frowning, Dean jerked his head.  “The words.  Like, ‘pretty,’ or ‘lovely.’”  He felt a blush burn down his cheeks and along his neck.  Men weren’t _pretty._   They were _handsome_ , maybe.  Or _hot._   _Pretty_ implied something rare.  Something delicate.  “That’s not me,” he said roughly.

     Castiel paused and moved, sliding his hands warm and sure along Dean’s shoulders until he lay crouched over Dean.  “Not _you_?” he whispered.  His thumbs stroked Dean’s too-hot skin and Castiel’s lips burned like a brand on his neck.  “To be scientific,” he began, breath a puff of warmth, “you have what is often known as the _golden ratio._ ”  He pulled one hand away to drag a fingertip along Dean’s jaw.  “Near perfect symmetry.” 

     Dean’s eyes drifted shut and he moaned again, his cock hard in his jeans.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_   Goddammit, of course he had to mess this entire thing up by having no willpower.  He wasn’t supposed to get off, was he?  This was bad, wasn’t it?  Like a horny kid with a porn mag.  Fuck, he couldn’t even do massages right.

     He shuddered at Castiel’s dark chuckle.  “And then there is your body itself.  You are fit and firm.  Tall, well-built.”  Castiel shifted, his lips skidding down Dean’s bared spine.  “Skin like silk,” he stated.  He breathed out, slow and sure.  “ _Responsive._ ”

     Dean’s eyes shot open and he tried to lift his head, to apologize.  Something.  But Castiel’s hand was there quickly, holding him down gently, but firmly.

     “Do you think me angry for that, my pet?”  He rubbed Dean’s neck, cooing softly.  “My touch excites you.  This pleases me.”  He kissed the shell of Dean’s ear, nuzzling him.  “That I can arouse you so quickly with only my hands is . . . _enticing._ ”

     “B-but, you said –“

     Castiel’s touch gentled, becoming feather-soft.  “We will go no further than this tonight, that’s true.  I merely want you familiar with my hands, my pet.  After all, I had never intended to deny you what you most need all this time.  And for that, I am truly sorry.”

     “You didn’t –“ Dean began to protest but halted when Castiel’s fingers dug in with warning.

     “I _did._   I neglected you in a way I had not foreseen.  But, in doing so, you have also reminded me of _why_ you are such a desirable companion.”  He carded fingers through Dean’s hair, sighing.  “So much fire and life.  You fight me and I want nothing more than to feel that.  I _want_ that aggression from you.  I want your obstinacy.  Your passion.”  Castiel’s dark voice thrilled Dean down to his toes and his trapped cock leapt as he growled, “My desire for you only increases, my pet, with each combative word you give me.”  He moved again, letting a palm drift along Dean’s bicep, squeezing the muscle almost in possession.  “In time, we will explore all our bodies have to offer one another.”  Dean could hear him swallow hard and his voice grew rough and strained, “Though, you try my resolve, my darling pet.”

     “You c-can, you know,” Dean pushed.  _Fuck._   If only he would.  Dean’s cock ached and he spread his legs as much as he could on the narrow couch, hoping to get the point across.  He wanted it.  Wanted it so fucking bad at this point.  He wondered how Castiel moved.  Was it hard and violent?  Or would he slide into Dean with slow, measured thrusts?  Send Dean into spasms of pleasure with rolling hips.  Would he tug on Dean’s dick or would he let him beg in agony as pleasure swirled with pain?

     Another chuckle and a kiss to his shoulder.  “Hmm.  No.  However, I think perhaps, I have a _task_ for you tonight.”  Castiel’s weight left him and he gasped at the lack.  A tap of fingers to his hip and Castiel stated, “On your back, pet.”

     He complied, nervous and excited.  There was no mistaking the hard-on between his legs.  Given the dark widening of his eyes and the wicked smirk, Castiel had been honest about enjoying Dean’s reactions.  He licked his lips and focused on Dean’s blurry gaze.  “As I said:  _beautiful._ ”

     The man crooked a finger, beckoning Dean to sit up.  He followed, startled when Castiel held out his shirt.

     “Clothe yourself, pet,” Castiel commanded.

     Unsure of what to say, Dean followed the demand.  His fingers twitched to pull at his dick but he stayed in position, digging them into his thighs instead.

     “I have another command for you, my pet, but first, I feel we must establish your safe word.”

     Oh, this.  Dean had one with Azazel and Michael.  Both men were indiscriminate of when they’d pay attention, though.  For the first time, he felt that Castiel _wouldn’t_ be like that.  He nodded and rasped, “Impala.”

     Castiel’s answering smile was one of warm encouragement.  “It is a fitting word, my pet.  Any time I am too much for you or you are unsettled, please don’t hesitate to use it.”

     “Yes, sir.” 

     Fingers in his hair again.  It seemed Castiel enjoyed this more than Dean did.  His blunt nails scratched pleasantly against his scalp and Dean was damn certain one day he really _would_ purr from the action. 

     As his fingers continued to move, Castiel asked quietly, “Will you take another command from me, my pet?”

     Dean nodded and whispered, “Yes, sir.”

     Castiel tilted Dean’s jaw up and kissed him deeply, coaxing Dean’s tongue into his mouth with a growl of satisfaction.  Pulling away just enough to free their lips, he murmured, “You will not touch yourself until you are home.  Once there, you may come however you choose to.  But I wish you to send me a photo of your climax.”

     Dean’s heart buzzed and burned in his ears and he thought he might pass out from the sudden flood of desire.  “S-sir?”  His imagination bubbled and if anything, his erection only worsened.  Going home and stroking himself off and sending the proof to Castiel?  He’d never done anything like that with either Azazel or Michael and that alone left him eager.  To know that perhaps, a week or a month from now, Castiel could open his phone and see Dean naked and spent made him swallow hard to stop the whimper of delight.

     That sweet, kind smile had returned, though the predation in his eyes remained.  “You need not send me the act.”  He let his eyes drift along Dean’s face and lips.  “I wish only to see the results of your pleasure.  To know I _brought_ you there.”  He met Dean’s eyes then.  “Will you do this for me, pet?”  He tilted his head slightly.  “Remember, if you don’t wish to, merely text me _Impala_ when you’re home.  You are in control here, pet.”

     The idea was a heady one and Dean wanted to protest.  He started to, but caught the narrowing of Castiel’s eyes and bit his bottom lip instead.  Thankfully, he managed to keep his eyes on Castiel the entire time.  Taking a breath, he nodded.  “I want to, sir.  I want . . . to please you.”

     Another kiss.  Sweeter than the last and softer.  “You already have.  So many times, my pet.”  He stepped back, letting go of Dean.  “I’ll bid you good night then, pet.”  He helped Dean to stand and walked him to the front door, fetching his coat.  He slid it on Dean slowly, neatening the lapels and smoothing the dark leather. 

     As Castiel stood in the open doorway, Dean murmured, “Goodnight . . . sir.”

     “Goodnight, my pet.”  As Dean descended the stairs, Castiel called out, “And Dean, feel free to call me at any time tomorrow; my day is free.”

     Dean smiled at that, and nodded.  “Sure, Cas.”  It was strange to flip so suddenly out of his submissive role and he stumbled down the short steps, blushing at the movements.  “Uh, anyway.  Yeah.”

     “Dean.” 

     He halted, finding Castiel barefoot on the pavement next to him, concern in the dark eyes.  “Er, yeah?”

     Brow furrowed, he asked, “Would you prefer a word that will let you know when our scene is done?”  He pressed a hand to Dean’s chest.  “Something that will help you transition?”

     He wanted to decline.  He should know how to be a sub and how to be _Dean._   He didn’t need Castiel to coddle him, did he?  He started to shoot back a snarky answer but stopped.  Maybe, that word wasn’t so much about him but about _Castiel._   He fidgeted and shrugged.  “I guess that’s okay.  Sure.”

     Castiel no doubt read his trepidation but nodded all the same.  “Very well.  Any time I say _well done, my pet,_ you will know the scene is done.  Will that work?”

     “Cas, you don’t have to be all careful with me,” he said finally, rolling his eyes.  “I’m not a goddamn china doll.”

     Castiel snorted half in amusement and half in irritation.  “Believe me, I’d not be interested if you were.”  He tapped Dean on the nose, nearly making him go cross-eyed.  “But you know about sub-drop and you know that being a submissive can be nerve-wracking.  I don’t wish to cause you any more grief than you’ve already suffered at the hands of those . . . _monsters._ ”

     Dean shivered at the violence in Castiel’s voice, directed as it was to Azazel and Michael.  It hadn’t done anything to wilt his erection, either.  In fact, it seemed to have increased the punishing ache in his jeans.  He shook his head.  “Cas . . . you’re not . . .” he coughed, dropping his gaze.  “I doubt you could ever hurt me.”

     He sighed into Castiel’s answering kiss, wrapping one arm around the man’s back. 

     Castiel drew away, that concern still crystal clear.  “I want _never_ to harm you, Dean.  _Never._   You are a gift and I intend you to understand that if it takes my dying breath.”

     “Kinda dramatic, Cas,” Dean taunted uneasily.  He’d so easily thought Castiel’s affection would have withered after his demand.  If anything, it seemed to have increased.  As did Dean’s own desire to feel it.  And with it, the fear that it might end someday.  Someday soon, given Dean’s track record.

     Unaware of his turmoil, the man surprised him by chuckling.  “I suppose it is.  Comes from being a psychology doctorate, I’d hazard to guess.”

     Dean perked up then, forgetting his worries for the moment.  “You a doc?”

     Castiel shook his head.  “No, I didn’t finish the degree.”  He shrugged.  “Many might think it a waste of my education but I don’t feel that way.” 

     Gesturing with a pointed finger, Dean teased, “That’s why you’re so hoity-toity with your words.  You’re a nerd!”

     The delightful laughter made Dean grin.  “Nerd, am I?”  Castiel snickered.  “There may be something to that.”  He eyed Dean carefully.  “But perhaps you understand why I claim to know what I’m talking about, hm?”

     Dean took a deep breath and stuck his hands in his pockets, grunting as the movement pressed harder against his dick.  Coughing again to distract himself from Castiel’s hungry expression, he nodded.  “Yeah, I think so.”

     “Good.”  Castiel kissed him on the cheek.  “Drive safe, Dean.”  He turned then but not before offering a final wave over his shoulder. 

     Dean waited until the door closed before turning back to the Impala.  He slid inside, digging his fingers into his thighs.  Not until he was home.  He couldn’t come until he was home.  _“Fuck,_ ” he grunted, spreading his legs wider.  Not that it helped.  If anything, it seemed to squeeze him tighter, making his vision dance.

     Try as he might, he couldn’t help but speed home.  He’d fully expected his dick to wilt by that time but whether from disuse or Castiel’s thrilling touches, he remained rock hard the entire way.  He hurried into the house, not bothering with the lights as he slammed the deadbolt home.  He trotted to his bedroom and stripped before crossing the threshold, almost sobbing with relief as his cock sprang up. 

     He clicked on the bedside lamp and flopped on the bed.  Digging into his drawer, he pulled out lube and squirted a generous amount on his hand before grabbing himself.  He sighed shakily at the sudden surge of pleasure.  Mouth slack, he rolled his eyes up, imagining it Castiel’s hand.  Those slender fingers tugging on his cock.  Pressing against the vein.  He gripped the sheets in his free hand, rocking his hips as he stroked harder. 

      He should probably be ashamed of the begging whimpers.  The way his voice breathlessly repeated Castiel’s name, over and over.  But it felt too good.  His hand on his cock felt _so good._   The idea that his state came about because of Castiel made his insides burn and blaze.  But _God._   He just wanted more of Castiel.  Wanted him _on_ him.  _In_ him.

     That final thought burst through his brain and he came with a cry, come pumping out of his trembling cock.  He gasped, body bucking as he spurt, nearly in pain at the sudden release.  Dean panted and flopped back, stunned by the intensity of his orgasm.  Remembering Castiel’s command, he reached for his phone, fingers shaking.  He aimed the camera at his half-stiff dick, the gobbets of white come on his trembling abdomen.  He looked like those twinky web-cam guys.  Opaque white splotches on tan skin.  His half-hard cock.

     He took a deep breath and snapped the photo, sending it to Castiel before he could think.  He dropped the phone and wrapped his arms over his eyes, wondering if he’d even see it right away.  Maybe he’d turned his phone off.  Maybe this was really just a test to see if Dean could follow instruction.  Maybe –

     His phone chimed and he snatched it up.  His eyes widened and he swallowed.  Castiel’s answering text was little more than a brief _Well done, my pet,_ followed by a photo of his own leaking, erect cock, the black tattoo on his right wrist in full view.

     To his surprise, his erection surged anew and he almost laughed at the idea.  Just seeing Castiel’s cock was enough to get him hard?  Giddy elation flooded him and he did laugh then, rolling onto his side until his chest heaved with the struggle to breathe.  As his hysterical humor faded, he turned back to the phone, eyeing the man’s dick.

     Castiel’s wasn’t huge but it was a decent length; thick and ruddy.  He salivated at the idea of having that on his tongue.  Of feeling its blunt head strike the back of his throat.  He whimpered then, shutting his eyes and pressing his head into the pillow.  That prick would feel great in his ass, he was sure of it.  That thickness would fill him.  Just the right size.  He’d strike Dean’s prostrate perfectly, drive him mad with lust.

     Biting his lip, he reached for the lube and started anew, fingertips resting on the image of the other man's dick as he tugged and yanked his own, coming a second time.  Not as intense as before but not less toe-curling.  He shut off the phone and stood up from the bed.  Legs shaky, he scurried to the bathroom, scrubbing come from his stomach and readying himself for bed.

     As he slipped under the covers, he realized the anxiety he’d been dreading all day was nowhere to be found.  He felt sated and satisfied, his body loose and warm as though he’d just been fucked.  He didn’t dwell on the idea long before he drifted off, sinking into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. Totally didn't mean to go two months without an update. Things are still somewhat tumultuous for me in my personal life but I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I do hope this was worth the wait.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

     Dean would have thought his elation regarding the ramped-up nature of his relationship with Castiel would have faded by the next day, overtaken by the same stomach-churning anxiety he’d been beset with since Day One.  It didn’t, though.  The passionate pleasure lingered in his blood clear until dinner with Sam and Jess on Sunday.  His weekend, for once, remained relatively easy and enjoyable; he couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened.  Maybe there was something to Castiel’s pleas of _slow_ after all.

     Sunday, however, threatened to dash what little relaxation remained.

     Sam met him at the door with a wary grin.  “You look chipper.”  He stepped back, frowning a bit.

     “What, I can’t be in a good mood?”  Dean smacked the back of his hand against his brother’s chest.  He knew _why_ he was chipper.  But not like he could tell his brother he’d jacked off because a guy gave him a damn massage.  Even if it was Castiel.  He’d masturbated twice to Castiel’s grainy dick pic since Friday.  Each time, just as good as the last.  Might be a sign of something but Dean wasn’t about to dig into that just yet.

     Since then, he’d been nearly giddy.  He just hoped Sam would drop it soon.

     “Duh, idiot; just . . . you weren’t the last time I talked to you.”  He shut the door and followed Dean down the hallway to the living room.   

     “Maybe I’m high,” he muttered.

     “Cute, Dean,” Sam retorted.

     He kissed Jess on the cheek when she came out of the kitchen.  “How’s my soon-to-be-sister-in-law?”

     She grinned and returned the gesture.  “Done slaving over a stove.  I thought you taught your brother how to cook?”  She winked at Sam.  “He’s absolutely useless in a kitchen.”

      “Don’t I know it,” Dean retorted.  He snickered at Sam’s yelp of complaint.  “What?  You can barely make toast.”

     Acting hurt, Sam pouted and muttered, “You know, you keep encouraging her like that I’ll call off the wedding.”

     Dean snagged a roll from the tray Jessica carried and snorted.  “Pfft.  No you won’t.  You’d never find another absolute _saint_ who’d put up with your nerdiness.”

     Sam grumbled, with a faint smile on his face as they made their way to the dining room.  The trio sat and began dishing out pasta and vegetables, most of the talk revolving around the upcoming wedding.  A lot of it bored Dean.  He didn’t have an opinion on napkins or lights.  Tableware just had to poke food.  Hell, enough alcohol would get anyone drunk.

     The hominess of it, though, he sank into that.  Watching his brother and his soon-to-be-bride grow more and more animated over the subject left a rueful smile on Dean’s face.  He probably wouldn’t reach that point himself, where he could commit to someone for the rest of his days with such finality.  Not that he didn’t want to.  But, really, he wasn’t exactly a catch.  And finding Castiel had proved he had some _major_ issues that few people would want to deal with.

     He sipped his wine, offering up a word now and again, letting his family carry on.  And thought about Castiel.  Knowing that man, he’d have more than a few bits of advice for Sam and Jess.  Given his rather neat appearance, he could probably go toe-to-toe with Jess’ apparent consternation over a color scheme.  With a jolt, he realized Castiel would fit right in to this dynamic.

     And immediately shoved it down.  No, he wouldn’t go that route.  He couldn’t set himself up to believing in the concept of even a year down the road.  Sure, they had a _relationship_ but Dean didn’t see any permanence to the idea.  Castiel would get over his fascination with Dean pretty damn soon, he was certain of that.  And then Dean would suck it up and walk away.

     And then start again.

     Appetite gone, he focused on his wine, letting the alcohol warm his blood.  Well, not like he needed to really think long and hard on it.  Wasn’t worth the trouble, really.  Dean didn’t have it in him to be anyone’s “long-term.”  A bit of fun, sure, but nothing to write home about.

     At least some things had stayed consistent in his life.

     He perked up when Sam called his name.  “Hm?”

     Sam snickered.  “You asleep already?”

     Dean flipped him off and finished off the wine.  “Ha, ha; bitch.”

     “You two are such children,” Jess scolded.  She shooed them from the table and said, “Go play in the living room; I’ll take care of this.”  She winked at Dean.  “Try not to break anything, boys.”

     Dean followed Sam into the living room, stumbling to a halt when his brother stopped just outside the entryway.  He peered at the other man, surprised to see that Sam looked concerned.  Like a kid about to admit to breaking a window.

    “Sam?” he nudged.

    “I did a background check on Michael,” he blurted.

     At the man’s name, Dean went still, body seizing.  “What the _fuck_?” he hissed.

     Sam looked startled but went gamely on.  “Look, it’d been bothering me after you broke up with him.  I mean, it was clear he wasn’t good for you and you are _way_ happier without him but . . . I thought maybe . . . he’d done something.”  He fidgeted, wringing his hands.  “Dean, you’re not exactly an extoller of emotion, you know?  I had to do something.”

     “Fuck you, Sam,” he growled.  He jabbed a finger in his brother’s chest.  “You go behind my back like that and dig?”  _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_   Shit.  Did this mean Sam knew?  He knew about Dean and his . . . perversions?  Because it wasn’t normal.  Couldn’t be if he had to slink around in clubs or hide the gear.  Now Sam just had confirmation his brother was a messed up freak.

     “I didn’t dig into you!” Sam protested.  “Just him.  He’s shady, Dean. 

     Far from appeased, Dean began to pace, his head feeling tight and hot.  He wanted to ask what Sam had found.  But feared it, too.  He knew Michael’s possessive privacy.  He doubted that Sam would find anything of note.  At least, nothing that Michael wouldn’t want anyone to see.

     Worried now, Sam rasped, “I didn’t find anything.  Not really.  Some suspicious bank stuff but that’s it.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at Dean.  “I thought I’d find some kind of arrest record.  Assault . . . that sort of thing.  Nothing.”   

     The relief that Sam’s search had turned up nothing almost knocked Dean to his knees.  He leaned against the back of the couch, feigning nonchalance, even as his heart raced painfully.  “Don’t you ever do that again,” he growled.  Sam didn’t need to worry about him like this.  A background check was a Dean maneuver.  Not one for Sam.  Sam had his own life and worries.  This shit that Dean dug into had nothing to do with his little brother.

     “Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam murmured.  “I’m worried about you, though.”  He scruffed his hair, sighing.  “You don’t talk to me anymore.  Haven’t for like a year.”  He met Dean’s eyes, ever the pleading pup.  “I mean, you don’t have to tell me _everything_ but let me in once in a while, all right?”

     Barriers up, Dean scoffed.  “Let you in?  After this stunt?”  He recognized hurt in Sam’s eyes but like the fool he often proved to be, Dean railroaded forward.  “You’re lucky I’m even still talking to you, Sammy.” 

     “C’mon, Dean,” he pleaded. 

     “Piss off, Sam,” Dean snapped.  He pushed up from the couch, heavy footsteps making the framed pictures rattle on the wall.  He collected his coat from the hallway closet, just as Jess poked a curious head out of the kitchen.

     “Dean?” she asked, voice soft.

     “Great dinner, Jess.  I’ll catch ya later,” he tossed off, not looking back at his brother as he left the house.  He knew he overreacted.  He had that issue.  Especially with family.  In a way, he thought he knew why. 

     He slid behind the wheel of the Impala and headed home, clicking his phone to silent as the texts started pouring in.  It galled him when Sam pulled this shit.  The idea that _Dean_ needed to be looked after.  Dean was fine.  Dean had it all figured out.  Messed up as it was.  The idea that Sam felt he needed to step in proved that Dean hadn’t held it together as well as he’d thought.

     He sighed, the air rattling in his chest.  All right.  Meant he needed to clean up how he did things.  Be less obvious.  If he had to act happy around his brother, then fine.  He’d do that.  Dean could lie with the best of them, after all.  And when the time came, he could act happy that Castiel had left.

 

~~*~~

 

     On Monday, still irritated by Sam’s interference, Dean headed to Castiel’s home for dinner.  Hopefully, if all went well, he’d get another command and all this stress would disappear.  He bounced on the balls of his feet at Castiel’s door, knocking sharp and quick as he did.

     Castiel opened the door and smiled.  “Evening, Dean.”  He chuckled when Dean darted in, kissing him hard on the mouth.  “My, someone’s eager?”

     Blushing, Dean shrugged.  Yeah, his nerves were definitely all over the place after Sam’s little trick.  He shoved it down though and said, “Heh, sorry.  Got carried away.”  He slid off his jacket, handing to Castiel to hang on the rack.

     “Not that I’m complaining, Dean,” Castiel pointed out.  He shut the door and faced Dean completely.  Dark eyes tracking over him, he leaned in, kissing Dean again, this time long and drawn out.  A careful press of lips and soft breath.  So slow and sure, as though time had ceased completely in that well-lit entryway.

     Dean’s knees trembled and he reached up to embrace Castiel when another knock came.  He blinked, struggling to draw himself out of his haze.  Dammit, he could still taste Castiel on his lips.  Whoever the fuck had interrupted them had better be on fire.

     Castiel frowned, looking over his shoulder.  “I’m not expecting anyone else,” he murmured.  He absently patted Dean’s arm and turned to the door.  Dean stepped to the side, standing half in the living room as Castiel pulled it open. 

     A moment after opening it, even from the limited viewpoint, Dean could see the other man’s entire demeanor shift.  Back straightened.  Hands rigid.  All humor fled his expression and the warmth of his eyes chilled.  He glanced once at Dean before beckoning the other man in.  “What a surprise, Father.”

      _Oh._   Dean stood back further, trying to make himself appear invisible.  Maybe Castiel hadn’t mentioned a new partner yet.  That uneasiness could be understandable then.  Or, like a lot of men, he hid his sexuality.  Best that Dean stayed quiet and hope the visit would be a short one.

     No such luck considering how the older man’s gray eyes latched onto Dean.  Lifting a brow, he sniffed, distaste clear in his sharp jaw.  “You are?” he demanded.

     Before Dean could say a word, Castiel flipped his hand.  “My secretary.  He’s new; I needed him to stop by for tomorrow’s schedule.”  He glanced again at Dean, eyes flat.  “You may go.”

     Dean felt his stomach drop.  Huh?  Maybe he’d heard it wrong?  Tongue thick in his mouth, he rasped, “Uh, C—“

     “I won’t repeat myself,” the other man stated, pointing at the door.  He looked so different.  Dark and distant.  Nothing like the man Dean was growing attached to.  Like a stranger.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

      _Jesus._   So Dean wasn’t even worth mentioning?  He could understand hiding one’s orientation from family but to dismiss Dean as  _help_?  What the fuck?  Sick to his stomach but growing angrier by the second, Dean grabbed his jacket from the rack and slipped it on, before  _bowing_  toward Castiel.  _Fuck you and your so-called_ help,he thought. 

     “Sir, yes, sir,” he snapped.

     He caught the brief clench of Castiel’s jaw but didn’t wait long enough for the taunt to register further before wrenching the door open.  Scraping his way through, he slammed it shut behind him, taking a bit of perverse pleasure in how the window inset rattled in protest.  Humiliated and disgusted, he tromped to his car, ignoring the rain that had begun to fall.  Even so, he strained his ears to listen for a response.  Some kind of excuse or explanation. 

     Nothing.  No sudden opening of the door.  Begging of forgiveness.  Just abject silence from the house behind him.

     The car rocked with violence as he yanked on the door and all but fell in.  The engine had hardly cycled before he tore off down the road, wipers flipping and rain drumming.  Anger.  Anger like he hadn’t experienced in  _years_  poured off him in waves.  How fucking  _dare_  he?  Yeah, sure; hide their relationship if he had to but act like Dean was _nothing_?  He’d never heard Castiel sound so cold and detached.  How he could barely  _look_  at Dean the moment his father had stepped through the door.

     At a traffic light, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in through clenched teeth.  Fine.  He’d leave.  Dutiful little Dean would march away.  But he wasn’t about to let Castiel win on this one.  The man kept pushing at Dean to be honest and to fight when he had to.  To not simply roll over like he had with Michael so many times.

     Castiel could learn first-hand what a  _fight_  with Dean Winchester was like.  Dean didn’t even wait for the light to switch to green before slamming on the gas and fishtailing through the intersection.

 

~~*~~

 

     Ten in the morning, right when Castiel’s shop opened, Dean was there, waiting in a tempered rage.  He’d thought hard on what had happened the night before.  And really, Castiel owed him the mother of all explanations.  Even if he wasn’t out to his dad, Dean didn’t need to be treated like a _thing._   But that’s what Castiel had done.  Treated him the way Michael often did when he was annoyed with Dean.

     Dean exited his car when he noticed Castiel pull in.  He looked a bit rough as though he hadn’t slept.  He halted on the sidewalk when he spied Dean, that weariness only increasing tenfold.  “Dean,” he murmured.  He pulled out his keys and unlocked the front door.  “I suppose you’ve something to say.”

     Glaring, Dean followed him in.  “Damn right I do,” he barked.

     Castiel glanced over his shoulder.  “Anna will be here any minute.  Perhaps another time?”

     Dean didn’t even respond to the concern.  “Why’d you do it, Cas?  Why’d you lie to your dad about me?”

     Eyes shut, Castiel moved around the main counter, pulling out the store’s inventory book and setting it on the counter.  “I have my reasons,” he stated.  He flipped through the catalog and added, “It’s over, Dean.  Nothing to concern yourself with.”

     _Jesus._   He didn’t think it’d hurt that much to hear Castiel dismiss his worries like that.  He grabbed the catalog from Castiel, only to have the man snatch it back almost frantically.  “The hell it is!”  He leaned on the counter.  “You stood there and called me your _secretary._   You acted like I didn’t mean a fucking thing to you!”  Dean leaned away, jaw clenched.  “Don’t fucking dare tell me this isn’t my concern.”

    For the first time, Dean saw true anger on Castiel’s face.  He slammed the book in his hand down on the counter and snapped, “Enough!  I don’t owe you _anything_ , Dean!”  Regret flared in the blue eyes but he made no motion to take it back.  “My family has _nothing_ to do with you.”

     Dean _almost_ let the matter go.  Then his tongue caught up to the rest of the events.  “Fuck you, Cas.”  He matched Castiel’s glare with one of his own.  “Yeah, maybe your family isn’t any of my business but how you treated me in there _is._ ”  He smirked.  “Oh, but wait.  Didn’t you say you wanted a _relationship_ with me?  Is that a relationship then?  Lying to me and getting rid of me when I’m inconvenient?”

     Castiel looked away, breathing out deep and hard from his nose.  “We’ll talk about it later,” he grunted.  He raised his eyebrows at Dean.  “Understood?”

     Uh, uh.  No fucking way Dean was going to tuck tail and give Castiel a way out.  No, he deserved a goddamn answer for that insult.  “If we don’t talk about it _now,_ there won’t be a _later,_ ” Dean warned.  He leaned against the counter, thrusting his face into Castiel’s space.  “And no _‘pet’_ ever again.”

     Brow furrowed, anger flared again in Castiel’s face but it lessened quickly.  Instead, fear stole the color from his face and his eyes turned dull.  The life in them gone so sudden, Dean took a step back in response.

     “All right,” he whispered, defeated.

     He avoided looking at Dean and let go of his book before beckoning Dean to follow him.  They crossed to the back of the store, Castiel’s steps quiet in comparison to Dean’s frustrated tread.  Dean flicked on the light in Castiel’s office and turned, arms folded.  Castiel spared him a glance then, unsure as before, and closed the door to his office.

     He bowed his head and leaned against it, well away from Dean in the process.  “I apologize,” he murmured.  “I’d been unaware my father was even in the state.  I hadn’t time to prepare.”

      “Not an excuse,” Dean replied.  To his credit, he met Castiel’s sharp look.  “You fucking treated me like shit in there, Cas.”

     “You don’t understand,” Castiel protested, tone rasping.  “My father –“

     “Newsflash, Cas:  I understand better than you know.”  He sneered at Castiel.  “Know what my dad said when he found out I was bi?”  He threw his shoulders back, mimicking the elder Winchester.  “’ _No fucking son of mine is a fudge packer._ ’  He told me to grow up and if I dared to bring it into the house, I was on my ass.”  He trembled.  “I was _fifteen._   I was a _kid._ ”  The vile memory crawled along his shoulders like an icy snake.  There’d been more than that.  More words hissed and dark looks.  He almost preferred the physical violence to that insidious abuse.  Hiding it from little Sammy had been difficult.  But no reason for Sam to hate their dad; it was Dean’s fault, after all.

     Guilt replaced Castiel’s earlier anger and Castiel wilted.  “Again, I’m sorry.  What I did was wrong, I know that.  But Dean, my father is not a kind man to queer people.”  He swallowed and looked away.  “I’ve been unable to reveal who I am to him.  He doesn’t even know about this shop.”

     “I don’t care.”  Dean ignored the hurt in Castiel’s eyes in that moment.  “I’m not saying you had to throw out a banner saying ‘ _I want to fuck this man,’_ but you sure as shit didn’t need to kick me to the curb like that.”  He jabbed a finger in the empty air between them.  “You wanna know something?” he snarled, “In that moment, you made me think you were worse than Michael.”  Panic welled in his gut and he turned, presenting his back to Castiel.  Eyes squeezed shut, he admitted, “At least, with him, I knew where I stood.”

     Dean jerked away when he felt a hand on his neck.  Eyes wide and wild, he met Castiel’s dark blue.  The sorrow in them cut like knives but Dean’s own nerves were far too frayed.  He couldn’t take that affection right now.  Didn’t want it.  “Don’t,” he rasped.  “Don’t touch me right now.”

     Immediately, Castiel drew back, leaning against the door again.  “Of course,” he murmured.  He fidgeted, arms around his midsection.  He coughed once, not looking up.  “I don’t expect you to forgive me but can I explain?”

     “Fine,” Dean relented, taking a seat behind Castiel’s desk.  Far away from the man.  What worried him, honestly, was how he _did_ want to just shove all this to the side and go on.  But he’d done that every time Michael had laid an unwelcome hand on him.  Every time the man had used him and left him bereft.  Wasn’t that what was supposed to _stop_?  Pushing at Castiel would be the right path to take.  Wasn’t that what the guy always protested with Dean?  Honesty?  Well, right now, Dean didn’t trust the man across from him much.  And he wanted to.  Maybe.  Hard to tell any longer given how ill he felt.  Fuck, he just wanted this all to _stop._

     “I, um, didn’t grow up with my father.  He was quite distant.  Possibly due to my mother dying when I was barely out of diapers.”  Castiel stayed plastered to the door, though he’d lifted his head, meeting Dean’s eyes.  “I never really learned how to communicate with him.  I spent a majority of my life in either boarding schools or universities.  _That_ he understood.  Emotions were foreign to him.”

     He took a step from the door, halting when Dean’s eyes narrowed.  “My father is a renowned psychologist.  And for as rational as his career is, he himself tends to border on the opposite.”  He began to pace, arms still folded at his middle.  “He willingly speaks at religious conferences on the idea of _healing_ homosexuality.  He sees it as a mental defect.  Something to _fix._ ”  Castiel lifted a hand and chewed on his fingertip.  “He never stated it outright _to me_ , but I’d often overhear his disgust in gays.  After that, I knew _never_ to admit what I was.”

     Wringing his hands now, his pacing quickening, he swallowed visibly.  “It grew worse as I grew older.  I didn’t want to do what he did.  He thinks I’ve finished schooling and have my doctorate.  He _thinks_ I own a quiet clinic.  That I am as he is.”  He halted, hands white-knuckled.  “He knows nothing of who I am and whenever I am near him, I am _terrified._ ”

     So he and Castiel were more alike than he’d thought.  Both had resistant fathers.  Had hidden their truth to a sickening degree.  Yet, Castiel was a grown man.  On his own.  Away from his father.  That didn’t mean he had to regress so quickly, did it?  One of the first things he’d admired about Castiel had been his grounded nature.  His maturity.  This all flew in the face of that.

     Though, a part of him wondered on just how high a pedestal he’d placed Castiel.  Rationally, he knew everyone had their foibles.  Their crosses to bear.  Was it wrong that this was Castiel’s?  That he fell apart when it came to family?  Dean didn’t have a right to berate him when he himself suffered worse under intimacy.

     _Very much alike,_ he admitted, running hand through his hair.  “Then why not just say I was your friend?”  So yes, he understood.  To an extent.  Given his own exposure to John’s homophobia, he could fathom why Castiel would lie.  But why the rejection?  Why the shut-out behavior?  It roiled still in Dean’s gut and he _deserved_ to know why a man who claimed to want him so badly would turn him away so easily.

     Castiel shut his eyes, his hands shaking as he continued to clench them.  “Because . . . I feared him knowing _anything_ good about my life.  I feared he’d destroy it like he did so much of my childhood.”  He took a breath, facing Dean.  “I hurt you, I know that.”  He dropped his gaze and added in a pained whisper, “I _knew_ that when you left.  It killed me, watching you leave.  The anger in your voice.”  When he laughed, it came out strangled and sour.  “Like a fool, I hoped you’d understand what I was doing so that I wouldn’t have to explain.  So that I could . . . I don’t know,” he admitted.  “What I did was unacceptable.  And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

     The sincerity in the apology sent shivers of relief and dread down Dean’s skin.  In that moment, he wanted to vault over the desk and pull Castiel into his arms.  Kiss him.  Touch him.  Let him know it was fine and they could go back to how they were.  Dean would take his commands and it would all be unchanged.  So he gripped the arms of the chair he sat in, willing himself to remain still.  “Cas, you said you wanted honesty, right?”  At the man’s nod, he went on.  “Then you should have told me about him.  It wasn’t like you could hide him forever.”

     “I know,” he whispered.  He covered his face with both hands and sighed.  “Oh, when I screw up I do manage it so spectacularly.”  He smiled ruefully, eyes shining with unshed tears.  “I had wanted to keep him from taking you away from me and I feel that I have sent you off just as quickly.”

     Dean didn’t answer right away.  Maybe he was right.  Maybe Dean needed to leave if something of this magnitude could be hidden.  From what Castiel hinted at, it sounded like the elder Novak didn’t live nearby and wouldn’t necessarily be a continued presence.  Still, if Dean had to hide in a year or so simply because the man popped in for a visit, it wouldn’t sit well with him.  Nor should it.

     Mulling the concept over, he asked, “What would he do know if he knew you were gay?”

     Castiel blinked.  “I . . . I don’t know.  I’ve not thought on it, actually.”  He shrugged.  “I’m not beholden to him in any way.  My schooling had been taking care of with a trust from my mother’s father.  Everything I own I’ve earned through my own skill.”  Another shrug, weaker this time.  “I don’t know,” he repeated.  “It doesn’t lessen that fear, however.”

     Feeling that same, sickening twist in his stomach, Dean licked his lips.  “Which means you’ll do it again, won’t you?  Pretend you’re straight?”

     Castiel stared at the wall.  “Cast you aside, you mean?”  He faced Dean, skin pale and drawn.  “I can’t be sure,” he admitted, the words drawn out slow and quiet.  “I want to claim that I never would.  But when I am around that man, something in me breaks.”  Castiel began to pace again, slower this time.  “That I would do this to you, after all you’ve suffered,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Dean.  He ceased moving, fingers to his lips.  “You’re right,” he whispered.  “I am quite a bit worse than Michael.”

     Dean shook his head and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, forehead in his hands.  “It was shitty, yeah,” he began.  “But . . . not worse than Michael.”  He peered up at Castiel.  “You actually sound sorry.  He never did.”

     “Small comfort,” Castiel admitted with sour wryness.   

     Dean laced his fingers together in front of him, staring sightless where they sat on Castiel’s polished desk.  “Cas,” he rasped, “I’m pissed.”

     Castiel took a deep breath and whispered, “I know.” 

     Flicking his gaze up, he caught the fear and disgust in Castiel’s eyes.  Turned inward.  While comforting to know Castiel hated what he’d done, Dean still chafed from the action.  He had a right to be angry.  Even if he did understand _why_ Castiel had done it.  Call him gun-shy but it wasn’t an event he could simply brush off.  He couldn’t go down a road like that again.  To have all that bliss and pleasure only to have it soured by something outside his control.  No, _this_ was in his control.  He could take charge _now_ and prevent any further harm directed his way.

     Which would likely mean leaving Castiel completely behind.  Maybe BDSM altogether.  At this point, he couldn’t deny that he had the shittiest luck these days with Doms.  Maybe that sort of life hadn’t been meant for him.  But fuck!  Even now, remembering that first night of commands, the way his body had unraveled simply _thinking_ of Castiel touching him.  The fact that _he’d_ made Castiel hard just by having a damn orgasm!  More addictive than any drug or alcohol and he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to give it up at this point.

     Other than the massage, Castiel hadn’t really even touched him yet.  Just that deep, sultry voice.  The firm commands.  It scared him how badly he wanted more of it.

     Jaw clenching, he stated, “I need a few days.  To think.”  His brain buzzed too much for him to consider it properly.  The good and the bad of the decision mixed until his head pounded with pain.  If he didn’t get away, he’d make the wrong decision; whatever it might entail.  He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

     “Of course,” Castiel conceded.  Dismay now.  That strong timbre so faint and tremulous. 

     It hurt Dean to hear that loss of confidence.  But even so, he wouldn’t let himself fall again.  Not like with Michael.  Michael had done the apology dance with him one time too many.  The promises to never do it again.  The supposed regret.  Still so fresh.  He just . . . couldn’t do that.  He needed to know it was for real and not just a ploy on Castiel’s part.  Though, thinking that it might be made him want to heave.  Swallowing, Dean rose from the chair and met Castiel’s eyes.  “When – _if_ I want to see you, I’ll call.” 

     Castiel’s lips thinned and he nodded once, looking away.  Everything about the man appeared small and feeble now.  A shade of his former self.  In a way, Dean was grateful.   Maybe it meant Castiel did regret what he’d done and wouldn’t do it again.  Or, as he feared, the man was merely a talented actor.

     As Dean crossed the room, he paused beside Castiel, opening his mouth to say . . . _something._   Wondering if he should just forgive and forget.  Or end it completely.  Finding no word that could convey his own confusion in all this, he snapped his mouth shut and moved on, slipping out of Castiel’s office.

     He shut the door behind him and barely acknowledged Anna’s wave goodbye.

     The drive to the garage was suffocatingly silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *skips away*
> 
> :D
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


	9. Chapter 9

     Dean refused to consider anything for a week.  Childish, maybe, but it wasn’t as though anyone could blame him.  Though, he hated doing it.  He missed even _talking_ to Castiel.  But for a week, he remained steadfast and didn’t text or call.  By the end of it, his anger had hardly diminished.  Instead, it shifted, focusing more on the fact that Castiel hadn’t tried to reach _him_.  No cajoling messages or begging emails.  Nothing. 

     It took about another twenty minutes of stewing anger before it hit him.  He’d _asked_ Castiel to do that.  Dean had said _he_ would contact Castiel.  And once again, completely unlike Michael, Castiel had listened.  Guilt weighed down in his chest and Dean rubbed his nose.  _Fuck._   All this silence stemmed from Dean, then.  He’d not offered an opening or anything. 

     Would it show weakness to give Castiel another chance?  He’d not done anything hurtful before now.  And Dean had the misfortune to know _exactly_ what a homophobic upbringing felt like.  But even then, Dean hadn’t blown his boyfriends off like they were nothing.  He’d play the part of “just a bro” but never ignored them.  Show disdain.

     He grunted at the idea.  That had been it.  The chill Castiel had exhibited.  So quick to distance himself.  Came from practice, sure, but no less painful.  And such a stark reminder of Michael’s behavior toward Dean.  The callous dismissal.  The surety that Dean would be no more than an object of pleasure.  Little more than a living, breathing fuck toy.

     If that happened with Castiel, Dean’s brain might implode.  He still felt for certain _he’d_ fucked up with Michael in some way but to hear Castiel tell it, all this sat on Michael’s shoulders.  Still, the fact that Castiel seemed capable?  It could very well be that Dean himself flipped the switch on Doms.  Turned them uncaring and unfeeling.

     He held his face in his hands, sighing.  He wasn’t really all that angry any longer.  Simply . . . sad.  He dropped one hand, resting his head on the other and stared at his phone, wondering what it would hurt to just say ‘hi’ or something.  Nothing that would let Castiel know he was off the hook but just enough to show Dean hadn’t written him off just yet.  He tapped the pencil in his hand, the staccato soon too much for him to bear in his office.

     Giving up, he texted Castiel, knowing that hearing that man’s voice might ruin what resolve remained.  **_You around_**?

     His phone dinged immediately, startling him.  **_I am.  How are you, Dean?_**

     His cheeks warmed and Dean swallowed.  **_You free right now?_**   It was just after ten in the morning.  Just opened and probably not that busy at Castiel’s shop but then again, Dean wasn’t all that clear on the rush times at a sex toy shop. 

     **_Whenever you need me._**

     He fidgeted, wary of the response.  He sent the address of his garage, saying nothing more.  Castiel replied in the affirmative and his phone went silent.  Maybe directing Castiel to his shop was a bad idea.  He’d for sure roll over, now. 

     _Well, it’s a record.  I held out for a week,_ he admitted.  Fine.  The stress would just mess him up, anyway.  Might as well get back to being Castiel’s ‘ _pet’_ until he fucked something else up.  That had to be why Castiel hadn’t pushed.  He’d just waited for Dean to realize he had _no right_ to be angry over this.  Not like they were in love or anything. 

     Dean was replaceable.  Always replaceable.  Though, for once, the word sat wrong with him.  He frowned, contemplating that.  _If_ he was so replaceable, wouldn’t Castiel have dropped all this immediately after Dean’s confrontation?  Dean knew he was a poor sub; too mouthy and opinionated.  This argument had been the perfect opportunity for Castiel to cease things with Dean and find a different, more pliant sub. 

     He resumed his pencil tapping, staring into space as he mulled the idea.  True, Castiel could just write Dean off but given his prompt response to the text, it was clear he wasn’t willing to.  And there had been no denying the man’s visceral reactions.  He’d been devastated by Dean’s remarks.  Possibly as hurt as Dean had been.

     That thought stayed with him until a half hour later, when he heard a knock at the door.  “Come,” he barked, twitchy and unnerved.  Thinking on things like this always left him out of sorts.  He just wanted the sex, right?  That’s all this had been about.  But then Castiel had to _talk_ to him.  Smile at him.  _Touch_ him. 

     Fuck, what was wrong with him?  Why couldn’t he just enjoy the physical like a normal person?  Take the commands like a normal sub?  Why’d his fucking head have to get involved all the time?  Bad things would follow.  They always did.  He shoved it all aside, looking up as the door knob turned.

     The door creaked open and Castiel poked his head in.  “Hello, Dean,” he murmured, slipping all the way in and shutting the door behind him.  He shrugged off his coat, folding it over one arm.

     He looked good.  Then again, he always looked good.  Seeing him, though, didn’t make Dean weak like he’d feared.  Instead, his nerves ratcheted up and he scowled at Castiel, noting how the man went stiff in reaction.  “Well?  Sit,” he snapped.

     Castiel lifted a brow but obliged him, sitting in the chair across Dean’s desk.  “You’re still angry,” he stated.  He looked toward his lap.  “I’d hoped you could forget all this.  Just . . . let it go.”

     Still scowling, Dean snorted.  “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?  Forget it all until you do it again.  And again.  And again.”  He slapped his pencil down on the desk, making Castiel jump.  “You do that to all your subs?”

     A slight frown creased his forehead.  Lifting a hand to rub his neck, he looked away.  “My other . . . companions were never in my home,” he admitted.

     _What?_   Dean stared at him.  That opened a whole can of worms Dean didn’t want to look into.  Why would he have made an exception for Dean?  That seemed so damn odd.  He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to focus.  “Just easier to ignore them that way, huh?”

     Dismayed, Castiel sighed.  “Dean, you have every right to be angry with me.  I would be, too, were I in your place.  But please, Dean.  I will do _anything_ to make this up to you.”  He looked downward again.  “My words are not enough to sway you, I know that.  Simply tell me what I must do and I’ll do it.”

     Unsettled by the plea in the man’s voice, Dean played with his pencil, staring at Castiel.  What could he do?  Dammit, Dean had no idea at this point.  Truth be told, he wanted to be with Castiel _right now._   Well, some part of him did.  Hard to tell if it was his submissive side or his actual self.  Maybe with another day, he’d have a better idea?  He glanced around his office, aware that Castiel now peered at him curiously.  _Shit,_ he thought.  _Maybe if I give him some dumb request, he’ll know I just want more time._   Could work.  Castiel was smart.  He’d read into anything Dean might do.

     His brain sped forward, and before he could stop himself he blurted, “Make me a dick cake.”

     Castiel scrunched up his nose, face rife with confusion.  “A . . . what?”

     Warming to the idea, Dean nodded.  “You want this gone?  Make a cock cake.  You do that, I’ll forgive you.”  Internally, he wanted to dash his head against his desk.  Where the fuck had that come from?  Jesus.  But maybe it had the right level of stupid.  Because, fuck everything; Dean missed him.  He missed the dumb conversations they had.  The way Castiel moved.  The way he spoke.  This fight sucked and while Dean _knew_ he sat in the right, it didn’t make it any less horrible. 

     Still, he shied away from crossing that distance.  Too afraid or what, he didn’t really know.  Dean just wanted Castiel away from him.  He sounded so sincere.  So abjectly morose over what he did.  It unnerved Dean.  People in his life didn’t feel bad about the things they did to him.  So, he just needed to go away.  A bit more time away and Dean could straighten his head out.  Besides, wasn’t like the guy would do it.  He had to realize Dean’s true motive in such a ridiculous request.

     Rather than call him out on it, Castiel lifted his chin, one eyebrow raised.  After another second, he stood, mouth a thin line.  “All right,” he said, nodding once.  He slipped on his coat and flicked the collar up.  “One dick cake, coming up.”  He turned on his heel, leaving Dean’s office.

     Dean stared at the shut door and muttered to himself.  _Fuck._   He sighed and rubbed his face.  Either he’d gotten what he wanted or he’d made it even worse.  He didn’t pretend to know how to read Castiel.  The guy wasn’t shifty but neither was he transparent.  At the very least whatever thought process trundled through Castiel’s head at the moment would keep him away while Dean settled on a decision.  He just wanted to think for a bit on whether he and Castiel could move on.  Having the man near him, tempting as he was, kept him from thinking rationally. 

     He’d know by tomorrow.  Hopefully.  He just hoped he’d be all right with the choice in the end.

 

~~*~~

 

     With the window of communication opened again, Dean wasn’t that surprised to receive a text from Castiel around noon the next day.  He was, however, surprised by the brief nature of it.

     **_Please come to the store. I’ve something for you._**

     He frowned at the message.  He couldn’t even begin to imagine _what_ Castiel had for him.  Besides, after their brief one-on-one the day before, Dean was so damn close to ending this whole fiasco that he wasn’t all that certain he wanted to see Castiel.  While he’d held out yesterday, he had his doubts he could keep from begging for Castiel to forget.  That Dean wasn’t mad.  It was all fine. 

     Ice shivered down his back and he trembled.  He’d done that with Michael, though.  He’d turn Michael away for crossing the line but eventually, Michael’s manipulation would win out and it would be _Dean_ begging for forgiveness.  Was it heading that way with Castiel, then?  Was Dean just a step away from letting the man have whatever he wanted?

     Swallowing, he typed back, **_No._**

His phone beeped almost immediately.  **_Please.  Just this once.  I’ll ask nothing more of you after this._**

     He shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in.  Opening them, he answered, **_Fine.  I’ll be there when I get there._**   Probably a shitty response but Dean didn’t want to give Castiel any kind of leeway in this.  _Castiel_ had fucked up.  Not Dean.

     **_I will be here._**

     He blinked in surprise.  Oh.  Well.  He pushed his phone away with one finger, staring at it.  Honestly, he’d expected more cajoling.  Some promise.  Not the explicit agreement.  Dean looked at the clock.  Almost one in the afternoon.  Maybe he’d leave in another half hour.  Keeping his eyes firmly away from his phone, he set back to work.

     He made it another hour before he recalled Castiel’s message.  He’d not heard a peep since then.  Pursing his lips, he tapped his schedule book, wondering if he should just blow the whole thing off and simply _not show._  

     _I might be an asshole but I’m not_ that _much of an asshole,_ he admitted.  With a sigh, he stood and snagged his coat off his chair.  Pushing the door open to his office, he almost ran into Bobby.

     “Where you off to?” the older man grunted.

     “Uh, just . . .” fuck.  He’d not mentioned Castiel to anyone yet.  At all.  _No one_ knew he had a . . . whatever Castiel was.  Boyfriend?  Friend with benefits?  He shrugged.  “I, um, appointment,” he blurted.

     Bobby squinted at him.  “Ya sure are a shit liar, boy.”

     _Fuck._   “Wh-what makes you say that?”

     He yelped when Bobby swatted him in the back of the head.  “Ya don’t need to bring him by the meet the folks but stop acting like you ain’t got a man you’re runnin’ with.”  Gruff as he was, Bobby was smiling.  “Ya been walking around here like you’re on cloud nine lately.  Don’t take much smarts to figure out _why._ ”  Again the squint.  “Though, you been mopey as shit this last week.”

     “Had stuff on my mind,” Dean supplied in a mutter.  He shrugged into his jacket.  “Fine.  I got a date.  You happy?”

     Bobby shoved him toward the door.  “Well?  Get your ass movin’, boy.  I’ll close up tonight.  I don’t want to see you until tomorrow.”  He whistled as he went into Dean’s office, effectively ending the conversation.

     He stared at his closed office door, stunned.  He knew Bobby didn’t care if he dated men but he’d not expected the absolute acceptance.  Blinking, he stepped outside, heading to the Impala in a daze.  As he sat behind the wheel, he realized this meant he’d have to tell Sam about Cas now.  Great.  That was going to be a _fantastic_ conversation considering what had taken place the last time they’d talked.

     Dean grumbled the entire way to the store, but he did as Castiel had so humbly asked.  To his surprise, the “ _closed_ ” sign had been switched, facing out.  Even though it was a Wednesday at two in the afternoon.  Frowning, he tried the door, further confused to find it open.  “Cas?” he called out.

     Scurrying out of the room as though his pants were on fire, came Castiel.  He looked like he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday.  And Dean’s eyes popped wide.  The man was streaked with icing and flour, a swathe of it across one cheekbone.  In his hands, a two tiered cake with pink and white frosting. 

     And . . . dicks.

     Dean’s mouth dropped open.  He had no idea what they were made of but tiny purple dicks dotted the fancy cake.  Including one rather absurdly detailed one that perched atop the otherwise immaculate cake.

     “Marzipan,” Castiel murmured.  He cleared his throat and set the cake down.  “I stayed up all night making them.  They’re quite a pain.”  He chuckled weak, not looking at Dean.  “As soon as it was ready, I called you and hurried here.”  He looked over then.  “I wanted to make certain I wouldn’t miss you.”

      “You . . . actually made a dick cake,” Dean snickered.  Jesus Christ; a goddamn dick cake.  Humor bubbled in his gut and he snorted, struggling to contain it.  He looked at Castiel, recognizing warmth and relief in those eyes.  “You said . . . did you spend all night on this?”

     Castiel shrugged.  “The decorations, yes.  The rest?”  Another lift of his shoulders.  “Time passes rather quickly when you’re tired.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you asked me to,” Castiel answered, sincere and direct.  He came around the counter, careful to stay out of arm’s length of Dean regardless.  “What I did to you was . . . I wish I could take it all back.  Pretend it never happened.  Slam the door in my father’s face.  Any number of things I wish I’d done rather than send you away.”  He leaned against the counter, fingers white as he gripped the edge.  “And I will bake you a thousand cakes, if it means you’ll forgive me this.”  He snorted faintly.  “Please don’t ask for anymore marzipan dicks, however.”

     Dean stared at the man, a million thoughts cluttering his head.  He’d made the request because he’d been pissed.  Asked for something stupid because he knew there’d be no way Castiel would do it.  A waste of time.  A dumb idea.  And yet, Castiel had _done_ it.  Not even a shitty sheet cake.  An actual, honest-to-God, fancy-ass cake decorated in tiny edible dicks.

     For him.

     To set things right _with him._

     Dean crossed the space between them and pulled Castiel into a kiss, feeling the man stiffen and then relax into his arms.  In reality, it was still dumb.  It was only a cake.  A thing that would vanish or rot or fall apart.  And yet, so much more than that.  The attention.  The care.  The _need_ to keep Dean happy.  The _desire_ to be with him.  It managed to be all the things he’d found with Castiel, frightening and amazing as they were.

     He pulled back, lips still brushing Castiel’s, unable to meet the man’s eyes for the moment.  “Okay . . . I forgive you.”

     Castiel breathed out, the sound shaky.  “I’m relieved.”  He leaned in, resting his forehead on Dean’s shoulder.  “I promise you, Dean, I will _never_ do something so callous again.”  He clutched at Dean’s shirt.  “To watch you walk out, I realized what I’d done but fear of my father . . . I wanted to run after you.  I did.  Please believe me.”

     Dean wrapped his arms tighter around Castiel, shutting his eyes for a moment.  He’d missed this.  Just having the man this close had been an absence he hated.  “Will it happen again?” he asked, dreading the reply.

     Castiel’s fingers dug into Dean’s back.  “Never,” he rasped.  “I’ll never turn you away like that.  I will . . . my father cannot run my life any longer.  I know that.  And I will not let him dictate who I . . . _want_ around me.”  He pulled his head up, stern but gentle.  “If he ever surprises me like that again, it will be tense, but I will not let you leave.  I swear it.”

     He could hear the pained sincerity in Castiel’s voice.  It wasn’t that he wanted Castiel to choose him or his father.  Just not cast him aside.  Act like he was just a _thing._   “I’m not asking –“

     Castiel smiled that same enigmatic smile that had snared Dean so quickly.  “I know.  You aren’t the kind of man who would dream of making such a demand.  And you aren’t.  This isn’t you coercing something from me, Dean.”  He touched Dean’s chin with careful fingers.  “This is me . . . making a choice.  One I should have made many years ago.  I’m only sorry you had to bear the brunt of my conflict.”

     Shaking his head, Dean kissed Castiel again, shuddering at the faint dart of tongue against his lips.  “But it’s over, right?”

     “Of course.”  Castiel looked equal parts tired and elated.  “Perhaps we should head to my home.  I can throw something together for a late lunch?”

     Before this event with Castiel’s father, they’d spent most of their time together either out in public, or at Castiel’s home.  The man had never pushed to see Dean’s place.  He’d left it alone, as though some barrier of safety for Dean during all this.  In that moment, he was struck with the vision of Castiel dozing on his couch, Dean’s head in his lap.  Just pure domesticity.  No sex.  No commands.  His heart shuddered at the want of it.  Licking his lips, he ventured, “Can . . . can I do that?  At my place?”  He lifted his gaze at that moment, seeing that affection he’d feared lost bright as a beacon.

     Castiel rested a hand on Dean’s cheek and nodded.  “I would very much enjoy that, Dean.  Thank you.”  He closed his eyes and kissed Dean again, soft and long, murmuring, “Thank you,” as he did.

 

~~*~~

 

     Castiel followed Dean in his car and Dean spent the entire drive clutching the steering wheel and breathing fast and hard.  What the hell was wrong with him?  It was just a rinky-dink house.  Nothing like Castiel’s but still just a home.  Why the _fuck_ was he almost panicking over it?

     He pulled into his driveway and shut his eyes, swallowing hard.  Just nerves.  Or adrenaline from their argument.  Maybe.  Steeling himself, he shoved open the Impala’s door, just as Castiel pulled in behind him.

     He offered Castiel a brief smile before turning to the house.  Dean bit his lip as his fingers shook but he managed to get the key in the door and the door opened without dropping them.  He nearly shut the door behind him in reflex, remembering at the last second to wait for Castiel.

     Some of his anxiety melted when he recognized the cake in the man’s hands.  “You brought it?”

     Castiel chuckled.  “Well, I’d hate for it to go to waste.”  He waited patiently in Dean’s entryway, watching him.

     “Oh!”  Dean blushed and shut the door, sliding past Castiel toward the house’s interior.  “Uh, this is my place,” he murmured.  Thankfully, due to he and Castiel being apart for a week, the place remained tidy.  Not that Dean was a slob but at least nothing looked too much like a bachelor lived there.

     “It’s lovely, Dean,” Castiel replied.  He followed Dean quietly into the kitchen and set the cake down.  He turned then and took one of Dean’s hands, lacing their fingers together.  “If you are unsettled by my being in your home, you need only tell me.  I don’t wish to make you uneasy.”

     Dean almost protested but swallowed, looking down.  “Uh, it’s not that.  Not really,” he admitted.  He stared at their hands, acutely aware of Castiel’s warm skin against his own.  “Just that . . . means this is . . . more than just a fling.”

     “Would you prefer it be a _fling_?” Castiel asked.  He cocked his head to the left, watching Dean.

     Shaking his head, Dean gruffed out, “No.”

     “Good, neither do I.”  Castiel dropped his hand then and clasped his own together.  “Now.  What shall we have for lunch, hm?”  He glanced around Dean’s kitchen.  “I’m afraid you’ll have to instruct me.”

     Relieved, Dean chuckled and put and Castiel to work.  He whipped up a quick stir fry with ground turkey and fresh vegetables he’d picked up the other day.  In less than a half hour, they both headed into the dining room with steaming plates and a beer each. 

     Chewing thoughtfully, Castiel murmured, “If it would ease your mind, I can inform my father of my sexual identity.” 

     Dean considered it.  It would be a grand enough gesture to give anyone pause.  But, Dean didn’t like the idea of being the one to force such an event.  He shrugged.  “Cas, it ain’t necessary.  I forgave you, okay?”

     Castiel’s fork chittered gently against the place as he set it down.  He gripped Dean’s wrist.  “I betrayed your trust, Dean.  That you are giving me this chance is more than I deserve.”  He rubbed his thumb along the back of Dean’s hand.  “You are very important to me, Dean.”  He let go and drew his hand back.  “I think, perhaps, I didn’t realize that until you walked out of my home that night.”

     Stunned, Dean stared at Castiel.  The other man met his gaze unwavering.  Swallowing his mouthful of food, Dean breathed out.  “Damn, you’re wordy,” he blurted.  He scrunched his eyes shut as Castiel chuckled.  “Sorry.  I just . . . I’m still trying to figure it all out, to be honest.”  He poked at his food.  “But, I, uh, missed you.  A lot.”

     Castiel said nothing, only rubbed Dean’s forearm before turning back to his lunch. 

     Their conversation turned lighter, thankfully skirting family entirely for the sake of current events and the banalities of modern entertainment.  Plates clean, Dean sat back with a sated sigh, quirking an eyebrow when Castiel stood and headed to the kitchen, leaving his dirty plate behind.  Dean almost called out to him when the man returned, a thick wedge of cake on a small plate in his hand.

     He sat down, taking a forkful and sighing in pleasure.  “I must admit, I make a fine cake.”

     Dean snorted.  “I’d hate to think you’d make crap desserts, Cas.  Helluva piece offering, otherwise.”

     Quiet once more, Castiel held out a piece of the cake between his fingers, lifting an eyebrow.  “Would you like some?”

     Dean squinted at him.  “I can cut my own, you know.”

     A predatory, lustful gleam darkened Castiel’s eyes.  “No, you _can’t._ ”  He smirked.  “Now, I ask again:  Would you like some?”

     Realizing what Castiel implied, Dean licked his lips.  “Yes, sir,” he answered.  It was with more than a bit of relief that he recognized the commanding tone of his Dom.  The anxiety that had been returning faded to the back of his head, like a headache about to burst.  He was safe in his home, with someone who _cared_ about him.  The _why_ could wait.  At least he knew that Castiel _cared._

     Castiel fed him the piece of cake, swiping leftover frosting from Dean’s lips as he did.  He licked his thumb, eyeing Dean with pride.  “Now then, pet,” he began, turning back to the dessert and breaking off another chunk, “what, pray tell, should we do with the rest of our afternoon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a holiday surprise? :D The chapter after this will probably have my normal waiting period but I didn't want y'all to explode given the cliffhanger from before.
> 
> Happy Holidays!!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://dek-says-so.tumblr.com).


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